Forever a Saint
by shadow182angel
Summary: With Cyrus, Killbane and Miller still alive, could the Saints really believe the war was over? And when there never was a body, how could they be sure Gat was really dead? Set after SRTT, some parings, mostly Boss/Gat
1. Eye of the Storm

**HEY GUYS! I was going to wait longer before I posted this. Updates mightn't be as thick and fast as they were with ASR; I'm trying to stay ahead of my own game this time. So, not only is this my first relatively original story line, but I'll also be dabbling in a bit of SciFi while I'm at it**.

**Without further ado...**

* * *

I never much liked the rain.

As a child it would mean a cold an uncomfortable walk home from school. For a short time in my late adolescence it had meant a cold and uncomfortable night on the streets. Now, sitting in my high-rise, heated loft, the dark clouds and low rumbles of thunder were bringing something much more uncomfortable…

Memories. Nothing good had ever happened when it rained. Nothing normal. I can think back to some of the strangest or worst nights of my life and for some reason, it had always been raining. Like the night Carlos died. Or the day we buried Aisha. Now, staring out at the storm that was threatening to drench Steelport, I could sense the uncomfortable electricity in the air.

The thick dark clouds hadn't let the water fall, not yet anyway. But they would. This wasn't a sad storm, this was a dangerous one, it was an omen. Things had come to a head in Steelport between the Saints and the Syndicate and STAG and I had thought it was all over; Killbane had run like a little bitch, and I'd had to let him escape. I had a good reason of course, Kia, that STAG bitch had my friends. STAG and Monica Hughes were going to blow up Star Island and blame it on the Saints, killing Shaundi, Viola and even Mayor Reynolds in the process…

Them, or Killbane. C'mon, it wasn't even a choice.

So yeah, there you go. We were heroes, yay. STAG and Cyrus were shipped out of the city. Pierce's publicist had recommended I take the lead in the movie _Ganstas In Space_, seeing as it was based around me anyway. Her last move before I fired her, because for Chrissakes, I'm a gang leader, not a fucking Hollywood asshole. Why the hell did we even need a fucking publicist? In fact, I was through with this… this _celebrity_ bullshit.

I huffed a discontented breath out and watched it make a smudge of white against the cold glass, slowly shrinking then disappearing. If anything, the black clouds cracking with lightning and thunder made the perfect backdrop. Heavy with rain… ready to unleash it at any moment.

Warning me that we weren't done. Not yet.

I lowered myself to the ground and crossed my legs, still staring out through the huge glass windows past the pool and helipad to the waiting city beyond.

Loren was dead, Matt Miller piked, Killbane had been unmasked and STAG had been cleared off. Still, I couldn't help but be tense.

There was a soft purr next to me and something warm and fuzzy nudged me on the elbow, lifting my arm up. I smiled and glanced to my side, seeing the tiger's huge, meaty head snuggling under my arm. He purred gently again, flopping down and resting his head and a paw over my leg.

"Sup Trubs?" I asked him with a smile, reaching out and scratching the tiger's rose-gold ears. Trouble was a beautiful boy, though a lot of animal rights activists weren't too impressed with my refusal to give him back to the Zoo and their breeding program. What the fuck ever, I could get him a girlfriend of his own whenever I felt like it. And he was happy here anyway.

"You _are_ happy here, right?" I asked quickly. Trouble licked his nose and purred, making me smile a little more, "That's right, you don't get meow-mix and fried chicken at the Zoo, do you?" I chuckled and ruffled his chubby, fluffy cheeks. There was debate with a few other Saints on whether or not 'Trouble' was probably an appropriate name for an enormous and very toothy Siberian tiger, but he was (in my personal opinion) very, very sweet. Naturally I hadn't thought that at first. Of course it's hard to think of a tiger as adorable and sweet when he's been starved and stuffed into the back of your car.

* * *

_Three months previously..._

I strode across the pavement from Angel's gym in a huff, rolling my eyes. People thought _I_ was nuts, but there's _me,_ and then there's _this guy_. I stuck a cigarette between my lips and impatiently drew out my silver flick lighter, striking up the flame and sucking back on the sweet smoke. I'd taken the addiction back up ever since-

… Ever since I'd landed in Steelport.

My hand shook a little when I flicked away the ash. Realising I'd stoped in my tracks I started impatiently marching towards the curb again, shaking thoughts from my head. _Conquer your fear_, Angel had said. God damn that guy was a douchebag. Conquer my fear of _what_? I'd been through way more shit than he ever could have and came out the end of it okay. I slumped down into my Hammerhead and yanked the door shut, resting my head against the steering wheel for a moment and clumsily fiddling my keys into the ignition.

There was a weird smell in here. Something kind of dusty and warm over the smell of leather and oil. I didn't really care though; it was probably just some junk food wrappers I'd thrown into the back of the car. My fingers twisted the keys and the engine purred into life with a deep, satisfying rumble, and I tore out from the curve, tyres screaming and smoking in the sudden acceleration and engine growling. I blinked. That didn't actually sound like the engine… whatever. I pulled the car up onto the overpass, the quickest route to the far West island and then when full throttle, letting the animalistic car run free around me.

Another snarl, not from the car, but from something behind me. _In_ the car. My gaze flicked up to the rear view mirror to see something grumpily waking up in the back seat, and suddenly a pair of furious yellow eyes were staring right back at me.

"AAAAAARRRRRGH!"

_A tiger! There's a fucking tiger in my car!_ _What the fuck?_

The angry cat roared over my sudden shriek and reached a huge honey and white paw out, smacking me on the head; the sheer force of it was bad enough but its claws were friggen sharp, and I could feel a cut starting to leak blood through my hair. The car swerved and scaped against others either side of me. I yanked at the handle on the door, even more dread filling my body when I realised it was fucking _locked_. Rigged.

"Fuck! _Fuck!_" Fuck you De La Muerte, _fuck you!_

The angry cat was snarling and crawling into the front of the car and suddenly I had a face full of tiger ass with it's tail whacking me in the eyes – I tried pushing the thing out of my way so I could see and the bitey end of the animal turned and snapped at me threateningly, but not before I saw the car was now racing rapidly into the back end of a truck. I slammed the brakes quickly and needless to say, my new feline friend wasn't a fan of that. He smacked me hard again and I couldn't help but yelp out, swerving the car and scraping hard against the concrete barrier between the road and sending sparks flying up the side. He didn't seem to like that either and began to panic even more, snarling, roaring and snapping, moving about so violently in the car it was rocking the whole thing and making it nearly impossible not to drive right off the damn overpass.

"CHILL OUT! CHILL THE FUCK OUT!" I shouted at the animal and it replied with a roar that nearly sent me deaf in my right ear. Then I did something that was probably very, very stupid. I reached out and smacked it on the nose.

I nearly lost my hand at that point, but the tiger decided to turn its anger on the car, tearing at the seat and trying to eat the dashboard, using its massive, powerful jaws to tear huge chunks out of the plastic. Still, that was preferable to eat eating _me_. I began to take deep, long breaths, trying to calm down and get the car straight again, slowing a little. The tiger was starting to wail, clearly just as freaked out as I was, poor thing.

_Poor thing? I'm the one trapped in a speeding car with a hungry tiger!_

"Okay buddy, take it easy now," I said, trying to hide the panic from my own voice. The tiger was huffing and snarling, and staring at me furiously, teeth bared. But he wasn't attacking.

"Alright, see?" I huffed with my voice about three octaves too high, "We're all friends here." My right hand slowly moved to the pistol that was faithfully strapped to my thigh. Endangered species or not, if that thing was going to attack me I'd have to plug it. I'd survived a lot of things, but being eaten alive by a tiger while getting in a highway pile-up seemed like a tricky one to get out of.

I glanced sidewards at the tiger again, which was still glaring at me, snout crinkled in a snarl. Its wide pink tongue leapt out to lick its nose.

"You huh, you wouldn't want to," I said as calmly as I could, "I don't really take care of myself, I'll probably taste like a pickled boot. I smoke too so the chest insides are gonna be all… tar and stuff. Yucky, you hear?"

The cat licked its nose again and growled. Finally it turned its hungry gaze away from me and out the window, moaning at the scenery that whipped by and lowered its head. Slowly I took my hand off the gun.

"See? Not so bad, is it?" I said shakily. It purred. Or growled. I stayed quiet for a while after that, trying to keep an eye out for the turnoff that would get me on my way back to Angel's gym so I could straight-up_ murder his ass_. Eventually, I heard a soft _schlep schlep_ and glanced to the animal again – it was licking its paw and starting to clean its face, seeming much calmer now, though occasionally making a low, unhappy moan. It stuck its head down in front of the seat and began snuffling through the littered bits of trash. Eventually it came up again, chewing on an old burger wrapper.

"Hey! Hey drop that! Yuk, don't eat it!" I snapped, reaching out and ripping the wrapper from its mouth and tossing it into the back. Man, I need to clean out my car. The tiger roared at me unhappily and I frowned.

"What, you're hungry? That's it?"

It licked its nose again. I sighed, "Yeah man, I get the shits when I'm hungry too. Angel not feed you on purpose?"

It snarled and looked back out the window. I twisted my lips thoughtfully as I pulled down onto the exit.

* * *

Tegan chewed her thumbnail absently, clicking the speaker on with her free hand.

"Welcometo Frecklebitches whatcannI Getyou?" she sighed, chewing a little harder to try and tear the overly long nail off. She blinked at the answer on the line though-

"_Yeah hey, can I get a fist with fries, a diet coke swallow and huh… whaddyou want? _OW!_ Hey! __**No**__. Sit down!"_

Tegan glanced up at the black and white monitor – it was a trashed looking muscle car, the driver eventually leaning back out the window again, looking a little flustered.

"_Yeah, a bucket of bazooms, the big one."_

Tegan frowned and quickly typed in the order, leaning forward to speak through the microphone, "That'll be twenty-four-fifty, next window please," she said flatly, though her curiosity was still piqued. She glanced out the window as the dark purple car rounded the corner and slid up to a halt at the side window – behind her Trey plopped the large paper bags down on the counter, walking off and scratching a spot on his chin absentmindedly.

"Gross," she muttered, picking up the bags with one hand and the coke with another, leaning back out the window.

"Twenty-four-fifty pl-" she went to repeat, but a sudden sheik burst out of her chest – a huge Siberian tiger reached out a meaty paw from the window and snarled, roaring at her – she dropped the food with a sudden yelp and fell back into the window, scrambling to close it and slamming the security lock down, staring down at the car on the other side. The woman inside the car was snapping something at the animal and stuffing it back into the passenger's seat – she looked down to the bags of food on the pavement and spilt coke, sighing and throwing up her hands, trying to get the car door open then eventually leaning out the window to grab the bags. The tiger's face flashed briefly again as it snatched a bag from her hands, ripping it open. The driver was yelling at the animal as fried chicken breasts fell about inside the car; finally the woman looked up to Tegan expectantly, scowling and pointing to the spilt drink outside her car. _What, she expected a refill?_ Tegan gasped and threw up her hands, shaking her head quickly. The woman scowled, shouted something Tegan couldn't hear past the bullet proof glass, and finally stuck her finger up at the girl, tearing away out of the drive-thru.

* * *

Everyone had been astounded (some horrified) when I'd introduced them to my new house pet. It hadn't exactly been like bringing a kitten back from the SPCA; there were certainly a few issues with house breaking. Him trying to eat furniture. Him trying to eat people, but then I always said that was _their_ fault because they should know that Trouble was becoming very protective of me. It didn't get much better when we started realising he was _still growing_. Turns out he was the tiger equivalent of a teenager when he'd been stuffed in the back seat of the Hammerhead, and in the few months that we'd been fighting the Syndicate and STAG, he'd gone from a slight 340lbs and just about doubled in size and weight, having hit 600lbs last time I checked. As far as I could see, my baby boy was still growing. Living on a healthy diet of catfood, junkfood, steaks, lamb carcass and the occasional Decker would do that to a tiger.

"Porker," I teased, scruffing a chubby cheek again. He looked at me haughtily and reached up, playfully mouthing my jaw and I humoured myself he might have been making a joke in rebuttal. Despite his size, I really believed Trouble was perfectly safe now (unless I instructed him otherwise) and even let him sleep on the end of my bed. Pierce had been the one to convince others to just give up and let me keep my tiger. I even remember overhearing his argument to the others-

"_C'mon, it's the first time I seen her smile since… the bank heist."_

I shivered; I knew what he was going to say. Not that it mattered, because Johnny would be coming home soon. He would be. Any day now.

He had to.

Trouble purred gently and stood up again, nuzzling his face into mine worriedly.

"You have to be nice when you meet him. No mauling, okay?" I said. Trouble just nuzzled me a little harder – sweet thing, knew when I was upset. I looped my arms around his neck and sighed, resting my head against his.

"Good Pusspuss," I smiled, scratching his back, "Who's a _good_ kitty?"

He purred, flopped down and rolled onto his back, stretching his long frame out expectantly and I almost smiled again, reaching out and giving him a hearty scratch over his fluffy belly.

"Now, I have to wonder if you kept the animal to prove your bravery, or just so you could make giant pussy jokes."

Trouble snarled and rolled up onto his feet, growling and flicking his tail angrily and I followed his gaze to the figure behind me; Angel stood at the end of the sofa, leaning against the armrest and watching me curiously. He still wore that faithful, thin purple hoodie but for the first time that was where the gym gear stopped. The wrestler's boots and… _spandex wrestlers pants_ had been replaced by simple jeans and sneakers. Spandex. What guy who's not Wolverine gets around wearing _spandex_ all the time? Worse still, is that I had to admit the seasoned Latino somehow managed to pull it off.

I couldn't help but bristle when I saw him, it was the first time he'd been back to the hideout since Killbane had escaped. I'd gotten plenty of angry phonecalls from him, the expected 'where's your pride' stuff but to see him _here_ was a little surprising. Trouble was getting angry now, circling me, his three-foot tail whipping about and he crinkled his nose at Angel.

"… What's his problem?" Angel asked, nodding to the cat and I folded my arms across my chest.

"He doesn't like you," I said flatly. Trouble snorted in agreement.

"… I'm guessing he's not the only one?" Angel offered and I raised an eyebrow.

"I've got nothing against you. Trouble _sit_," I said and the tiger growled bitterly, settling down in front of me but not taking his eyes off Angel. I reached out and softly scratched him on the ears again, and the tiger started to relax. I tilted my head as I looked back up to Angel, "You can't really blame him, can you?" I offered. Angel shrugged.

"An animal is an animal."

"_This_ animal will kill on command," I said, feeling a little sinister as I ran a hand down Trouble' back. Angel was undaunted; if anything there was a flicker of a smile across his previously serious scowl. But he didn't say anything, so eventually I spoke up.

"I'm surprised to see you back here," I said lowly, "What do you want?"

Angel looked away from me then, the dark scowl back over his eyes. He shifted, pulling something from his jeans back pocket. A crumpled piece of green fabric.

"The mask?" I asked dryly – Angel glowered first at it then to me.

"I wanted to know if you'd be willing to help me. Find him," he said, scrunching Killbane's mask up into his hand. Trouble's purr rumbled deep in his chest and I quickly reached out a hand to scratch at his ears again.

"The last time we spoke," I said slowly, pensively, "You called me a selfish, sellout _puta_."

"I was angry."

"No shit."

Trouble's tail flicked and his nose crinkled again at Angel – the cat was reacting to my own repressed anger, sensing my feelings like he was a witch's familiar. Angel looked away and shifted again – I got the feeling it was bruising his ego being here. Good.

"I can't get Killbane without you," He admitted, fixing me with a panther-like stare.

"-Well, looks like you're up shit creek then," I said haughtily, turning properly to lean back against the glass, stretching my legs out and crossing my feet elegantly at the ankle. Trouble sprung up lithely and draped himself across my lap as if he were an ordinary housecat – I didn't let Angel see how vastly uncomfortable it was.

"I know you want to get him as much as I do! We need to make him _pay-_" Angel tried again, shaking the fist with the mask scrunched up in it at me. I raised an eyebrow.

"Give me _one_ reason, why I should still work with you?" I offered darkly. Angel's response wasn't the right one.

"Because you _owe_ me!" his deep voice shot like thunder and he threw the mask down at my feet. Trouble responded for me, his head lifted suddenly and he gave a short, snarling roar at Angel, fangs bared. To his credit, the man didn't flinch. Froze up a little, but that was all and when he spoke again he'd forced his tone to be level.

"I could have stopped him if _you_ were there."

"Sadly Angel that's not the answer I was looking for," I said calmly, running a hand over my Tiger's soft fur again. I could see Angel's frustration – he gritted his teeth and sat down on the sofa, leaning forward, arms rested heavily on his elbows.

"I'm not going to apologise."

"Unfortunate."

"But I'm… willing to admit you were… right," he finished, sounding like he'd as easily vomit the words than say them. I narrowed my eyes at him, and eventually he continued.

"What you said last time we spoke-"

"-Last time you called up to have a cry at me, you mean?"

"Will you stop that?" he shot at me again. He was by far the most... _intense_ person I'd ever met and clearly he was getting sick of me needling him. I wasn't; I just stared back at him levelly till he was willing to continue. "When I asked you _why_ you let him get away. And you said that while ever he was alive, he could be killed, but you only had one chance to save your friends. I wasn't really listening then but I started thinking about it more, and you were right."

I ached to make a sarcastic remark but held back. In my silence, he continued, "So I don't blame you for choosing your friends, especially since Johnny Gat's dea-"

My hand froze mid-stoke on Trouble's fur and my fingers spasmed, gripping the tiger's skin. Trouble looked up to me worriedly and quickly licked my face a few times, his low purring breaking through the dry, white-noise that had suddenly filled my head like a protective blanket around my sanity.

Eventually it faded and I was back and vaguely aware that Angel had still been talking, and was now looking at me expectantly.

"…What?" I said with a quick shake of my head. Angel frowned a little worriedly.

"Will you help me…?" he repeated earnestly, "Please."

I blinked at the 'please'; he looked worn down and I felt all of his hopes suddenly resting on my shoulders. I decided to end his torture.

"I've had Kinzie searching for him ever since he left Steelport," I admitted, "Every now and then we get a blip, but he's jumping about a lot. She says we'll be closing in soon. When we find him, you'll be the first to know."

Angel's eyes widened and a heavy, grateful breath escaped him.

"_Thank_you," he breathed. Behind me, thunder rumbled around the buildings and the blackened skies opened to unleash the flood on Steelport.

* * *

**It's good to be back ;)**


	2. Denial, Anger and Pain

**I realize things are going to be a little slow to kick off as far as action is concerned. Hoping it'll be worth the wait though. Brace yourself for the angst...**

**Oh, and this chapter flicks between Boss and Pierce POV.**

* * *

I don't really sleep.

I tried, at first, but I only get about two hours in before the nightmares wake me up. I'd be walking down a road covered in blood and grated bits of skin. I'd be chained underwater, in a lake of gasoline and surrounded by dead bodies. Or sometimes I'd just be locked in a cell, hearing my friends screaming for help till the walls start bleeding.

I know. I need help.

And I can't let myself drink myself to sleep or use any sort of chemical help; when you're at war you can't afford the risk. The moment you're doped out of your head, they'll strike. And you'll be sitting there, unable to help anyone and letting your friends die.

It was about four am this time; after snapping awake I wandered around the loft, trying to decide if it was too early for coffee or a Saints Flow. I played _Genki Girls_ on my phone for a while before giving up when I couldn't get past the fourth level (I'm much better at _Angry Birds_). Exhausted, I laid on the couch, watching DVD reruns of _Bobby and Amber_ that must be five years old by now. With insomnia you're never really awake or asleep, and dawn and dusk were my worst times. Midday and midnight I was always perfectly awake and lucid but at that point I felt about as alive as the inhabitants of Zombie Island.

Over the almost-silent TV I could just make out the sound of Trouble's paws softly padding down the stairs after me. I know my sleep patterns disturb him but he doesn't seem to mind; sure enough his huge ginger head appeared around the corner of the sofa and he hopped his enormous frame up onto the cushions, flopping down over my legs and going back to sleep. That cat sleeps enough for the both of us, I reason.

I stared at the screen, transfixed by the mundane romantic drama. I'd seen the episode more times than I could count. I could chant the words if I wanted. I laid there, half alive till the sun started coming up, cold light pouring in through the huge glass windows. Trouble snored softly and I could feel my legs going to sleep under his weight. I began to doze… you know how sometimes when you're half awake, your mind wanders and your daydreams become real dreams? Like when you think you're getting up and getting ready for the day but instead you find yourself still in bed a half hour later? That happened a lot to me now. The other morning I tried putting my wallet in the toaster before I realized what was going on. Mornings weren't really my thing anymore… I loafed on the couch for a while, partially thinking I was in a café till I realized later on the conversation I thought I was having was actually taking place on the TV. Damn you, Bobby and Amber and your mind tricks…

I yawned and checked my phone which I'd abandoned on the coffee table; nearly ten. Shaundi would be here soon for breakfast and I wondered if it was too early to call Kinzie. I think her sleep patterns are as erratic as my own; she might sleep during the day… I fumbled my thumb on the touch screen and began scrolling for her number.

As always, it was exactly two and a half rings before she picked up.

"_Yes Boss?"_

Not sleeping then. Not too surprising.

"Kinzie, you got any news on Killbane yet?" I asked and was surprised by her answer.

"_Yeah, didn't Pierce tell you?"_

I blinked, "What? Tell me what?"

"_Oh… sorry I told Pierce, I thought he'd pass it up to you,"_ She said quickly,_ "I got a hit on Killbane at JFK, picked him up on security cameras. He's taken a private flight; I'm trying to keep the trace on him."_

I tired to focus on the new information but another question was pressing harder at the moment, "Kinzie why the fuck did you call Pierce and not me?"

"_Sorry,"_ She said swiftly,_ "Guess it's a chain-of-command thing left over from the FBI days."_

"Chain of… the fuck do you mean?" I snapped at her. Did she think Pierce outranked her so much?

"_Well seeing as he's your right hand I just thought… was I not supposed to-?"_

My hand had frozen around my cell phone, "…Next time," I started, my voice low and cold, "You call _me_ not fucking Pierce you understand?" I snapped at her heatedly. Her only response at first was shocked silence.

"_I uh… yeah. Okay."_

I hung up without another word. The responsible side of me was telling me to call Angel and let him know what was happening with Killbane. Instead, I found myself yanking my feet out from under Trouble and standing up, striding towards the stairs. Pierce had stayed here last night – though pretty much everyone in the crew had their own place they we always staying here. I strode down the hallway, feeling a thunderous dark cloud chasing me, swelling so suddenly when I reached his door I lifted my foot and _kicked_ the thing in.

The sudden noise startled the room's occupants; Pierce snorted awake, the two girls either side of him squeaking with shock, pulling the sheets swiftly up to cover their naked chests when I strode into the room.

"You two," I said, pointing at the still half-asleep girls, "_Out_."

"Whr-th-fuck?" Pierce grumbled, rubbing and eye and watching hopelessly as the frightened and confused girls scrambled from his bed and stumbling around in their half-awake state, desperately yanking enough clothes on before dashing past me.

I strode to the end of his bed and resisted the urge to throw something at his stupid face; all I had to throw at that point was my phone and I went through enough of those as it was.

"I should be asking you the same fucking question," I snapped at him, "You wanna tell me _why_ Kinzie thinks you're my Second?"

He blinked at me blearily, rubbing his eye again, "…What time is it?" he mumbled. I drew back my hand and hurtled my phone across the room at him, the small black tablet smacking him on the forehead and making him yelp out and swear. Fuckit, I'll get a new one.

"What the _hell_ is going on?" he snapped at me, shuffling to the edge of his bed and grabbing his suit pants. I could hear myself grinding my teeth.

"I _called_ Kinzie to see what was happening with Killbane, she said she'd already told you everything and thought you'd 'pass it up' to me, because _apparently_, you're my right hand man. Now why the fuck would she be thinking that?" I spat at him, seconds away from yelling. I don't know why I was so angry, and evidently neither did Pierce.

"What's the problem? I didn't _tell_ her anything like that but c'mon, I do outrank her-"

"Not by that fucking much!" I finally shouted only _just_ managing to rein my voice in, "Shit, I know you've got an ego but fucking shelve it for once!"

"The fuck is wrong with you?" he suddenly shouted back as he rubbed his eye. It had been a rude awakening, sure, but now he was advancing on me, just as suddenly furious as I felt.

"Christ I am so sick of this shit!" He said, pointing an accusing finger at me, "It never fuckin' changes after _everything_ I do for this gang, and you still treat me like crap! I get if you don't want me replacin' Gat but don't get fuckin _pissed_ at me cos someone else recognized what _I_ put in!"

I felt like I'd been smacked in the stomach with a crowbar when he spat Gat's name and I turned on my heel, unable to hold back the irrational anger anymore.

"Oh fuckin' _bitch bitch bitch_. And you wonder why people don't show you respect!" I ranted, pure verbal vomit. I turned to glare back at him as he sternly followed me out of the room, "Shit, what _you_ put into the gang? Making shitty commercials and even _worse_ fuckin' records?"

Pierce's jaw dropped, "Christ woman who lit the fuse on _your_ tampon?"

"Fuck you Pierce!" I shouted back accusingly. I'd picked the fight but I couldn't seem to stop it, too much that I'd been trying to keep down was now crawling up to the surface, "You think this is just about business? We get here and you… riding around in cars with me and going shopping with me and… and _staying here_ all the time I mean _shit!_ What do you think you're doing?"

"_I'm_ doing what I gotta do!" He yelled back, taking a few quick steps up towards me.

"Why?" I snapped, "Why do you 'gotta' do it?"

"Because Gat fuckin _told_ me to!" he shouted back, and I felt a sudden falter in the heated argument. Pierce was glaring at me and I thought I saw something of sadness flicker behind his eyes. He continued, trying to hold back from yelling, "We made a pact, man-to-man. Not three weeks before that bank heist, anything ever happens to him, he made me _promise_ I'd take care of you."

My well of insults had suddenly dried up and I hunted desperately for words, not really paying attention to what came out of my mouth "Yeah well I'm sure he didn't make you _promise_ to snake his position and when he gets back he's gonna be fuckin _pissed_ at you for trying!"

"…What did you say?" Pierce suddenly asked, his voice low and breathless. I blinked, recapping the words in my head and swallowed them back. I looked away from him and tried to walk off but his hand was suddenly gripping my arm, "Whaddyou mean, 'when he gets back'?" he repeated sharply and I bitterly twisted myself out of his grip, shoving him away. The thick silence hung between us and once again, I tried to think of what I wanted to say. But when I spoke again, my voice felt weak.

"I didn't… there wasn't a body…"

Pierce blinked at me, taking a step forward every time I backed away. He began speaking again, "Boss… there aint no body cos that plane is in pieces at the bottom of the ocean,"

I turned away, refusing to look at him. But there was no white noise this time, no static to block out what he was saying. I felt something horrible and hot burning in my stomach and cringed – Pierce grabbed my arms again and tried to force me to look at him.

"Hey! Hey look at me don't do this-" he said sharply and I looked up at him. His eyes were still burning with anger, "Boss… you, you gotta know, he's not comin' back,"

"Stop it," I said frostily, looking away.

"No!" he said, giving me a shake, "Is that it, you been livin' in some god damn _fantasy_ the past four months?"

I wrestled a little but I couldn't concentrate; it was getting difficult to breathe, "Loren survived, he escaped the crash, so… Johnny's-"

"Why hasn't he called us then, huh? You think he's just been on vacation since we landed here?"

Pierce wasn't really shouting, but the words themselves were crashing in my head like thunder, "_Stop it_," I croaked, the horrible, sick feeling swelling in me.

"He's fucking gone, you hear me? He's _gone!_"

"_SHUT UP!_"

"_NO!_ You gotta get a _fuckin'_ grip and _deal_ with it because _Johnny is fucking dead!_"

I broke out of his grasp desperate to get away, there was ringing in my ears and my throat was tight, I couldn't breathe. I stumbled away. I aimed for the stairs. Trouble trotted around my feet and I reached a desperate hand for his fur, anything I could hold on to. I felt sick, and Pierce was still furious, still shouting at me

"He died on that plane woman!" His words fired at me as I hit the bottom of the stairs, "You were there, _you heard him die!_"

_Can't breathe_.

I stumbled, my mind suddenly filled with so much chaos I could hardly see. I'd been aiming for the courtyard, aiming to get outside but I was barely halfway across the living room when finally, after four months of denial, it struck me.

It was like being strangled. I dropped, I gripped Trouble's skin and tried to hold on as he worriedly nuzzled and pawed at me but I could hardly feel it.

Johnny was dead.

I clamped a hand over my mouth, but it didn't hold back the scream.

* * *

She just _shrieked_. It was short and strangled, like she hadn't been breathing properly, but fuck, it brought me around. I'd just been so angry, and, y'know, just woken up and getting' into a screaming match I hadn't really been thinking about what I was saying to her.

"Oh _shit!_" I murmured, heading down the stairs after her. That fucking tiger started snarling at me when I got near though; she had it in a bear hug and I didn't want to get too close. But fuck, I had to do something.

I crouched down near them and reached out, tryin' to avoid that tiger. I got my hands on the Boss' shoulders, she was shaking all over and I pulled her in close. I'll never forget the look on her face. Not pain or sadness, it was flat out _terror_.

_Christ, what did I do?_ I pulled her in tighter; I could hear her swearing over and over again under her breath.

"Shit! Boss I'm sorry!" I said quickly. God dammit! Gat gave me _one thing_ to do. It was the one thing I could do for him, look after the Boss. And this was how I fuckin' managed it? Shit! Christ, what the fuck was _wrong_ with me?

I'd never seen her freaking out like this before; I mean I should have like a, a paper bag or something for her to breathe in or…

I blinked, shifting and quickly hunting a free hand through my pocket, fingers landing on the tightly wrapped paper. A little squashed, but still good, a party favor from the night before. I pulled it out and quickly hunted my other pocket.

"Shit… okay, where's your lighter?" I asked but she didn't say anything back. I was patting down her pockets while still trying to hold onto her when I heard her sniff. I glanced at her – she'd spotted the joint and suddenly ripped it from my hands, shuddering and putting it between her lips and pulling her sliver lighter from her back pocket. But her hands shook that much she couldn't get a flame going; I cringed and reached out, taking the lighter and flicking it on and she desperately lit the joint, dragging in so deeply I could see it fizzling away. She held the breath and hunched over, waiting a long while before finally releasing it and taking another drag immediately.

She stopped shaking and I slumped down next to her and stayed quite as I watched her demolish the joint. Never felt like more of an asshole in my life. Eventually the Boss straightened up a bit, already on the dregs of the joint, and she gave me this real icy stare. Fuck… that woman could be scary.

"… Boss, I-"

"Fuck you Pierce," she said, getting up to her feet. This time I kept my fuckin' mouth shut. She took another drag of the joint, already having slammed the whole thing and her eyes were getting kinda glassy. She dropped the butt and stubbed it out _with her bare foot_, then just walked off.

"Trouble, _stay_," she commanded when the tiger got up and trotted after her; it paused and made a few growling noises as she disappearing round a corner to the elevator. The cat snarled at me and wandered off.

Christ. Brilliant way to start the day…

* * *

An hour later and I was staring at my phone, debating on whether or not to give her a call. The Boss would just want to be alone, but I got this kinda sick feeling she might be off doin' something stupid. Then I rubbed the lump on my head and remembered she wouldn't have her phone with her because it'd been used as a projectile on me that morning.

There was a soft _ding_ as the elevator doors opened and I jumped to my feet.

"Boss?" I called out impatiently. It wasn't though – it was Shaundi's fine figure that sauntered around the corner, busying herself with a text. She raised an eyebrow as she started speaking.

"No. She already head out?" she asked then glanced up from her phone frowning when, I guess, she saw my expression, "What's wrong?"

I cringed and rubbed a hand over the back of my neck. Of all of us, Shaundi had taken Gat's death the worst. She mourned when the rest of the crew couldn't. I didn't want her to know all the shit I'd said to the Boss…

"I think we need to go find her," I said finally. Shaundi stuck a hip out and man, she makes it hard not to look, even now.

"Something happen between you two?" she asked suspiciously. I blinked and quickly shook my head,

"Nah, nothin' like that. We got into a fight… I said some pretty harsh shit and… she left. I dunno where."

"What was it about?"

"Gat."

Shaundi didn't say anything after that. She went tense and shifted about. I leant on the back of the couch.

"You gotta know somethin'. These four months, I reckon the Boss' been thinking he was still alive. Finally hit home this mornin' that he's… not."

Shaundi went still, then took a single step towards me, her glare was fuckin _burnin'_ into me. "…Pierce, _what did you say to her?_"

"Nothin' I'm proud of."

I stared at the ground, feelin' like the sack'o shit that I was. Shaundi's heels were clickin' over the tiles and she surprised me when she put her hand on my shoulder.

"Kinda makes sense now, doesn't it? She'll be okay," she mumbled. I thumped my fist against the back of the sofa.

"Makes sense? Man this… this denial was the only reason she was holding anything together, I _thought_ she was handling this shit, I thought I'd been helping and taking care of her just like I promised Johnny I would," I said. I looked up at her and she was frowning back at me, still raw. I could see that much.

"But I should have god damn _known_," I continued, looking back to the ground, "She was _too_ okay with everything. And the not sleeping? _Ever_?"

"Give her a day. If I know the Boss, she just needs to be alone. We'll get the crew to call if they see her, if she doesn't show up by tonight, we'll go looking," Shaundi said coolly, "She got her phone?"

I rubbed the lump on my head, "No."

Shaundi moved next to me and leant on the back of the sofa, crossing her ankles.

"She just needs time."

* * *

I don't know what I'd been expecting; pain, sadness, anger… but the _fear?_ Nothing had prepared me for the fear. When I think back to the times I was actually afraid, I realized each time was connected to losing one of the people I loved. Being trapped in the trunk with Lin, chasing down the truck that Carlos was chained to. Racing to Magarac Island not knowing if I'd get there in time to save Shaundi. But it hadn't been like that on the plane with Johnny; I didn't want to leave him behind and I _had_ worried. But I hadn't been afraid. I trusted him so implicitly that the idea of him not making it had never even crossed my mind.

My foot pressed down harder on the accelerator; I was probably too high to be driving right now, but it sure as shit was better than whatever was threatening to grip me when I came down. Also, driving made me feel like I was doing something, even without a destination I could feel like I was going somewhere. I couldn't afford to feel directionless at the moment…

You slow down, you stop. Then the engine stalls and you're dead.

* * *

**Looking forward to the next chapter... and my first attempts at something close to SciFi… (cringe)**

**I'll be taking real liberties with the storyline here on out.**


	3. Meanwhile, offscreen

__**I got a bad habit about lying about my next chapters. This one came out of nowhere, so I'm squeezing it in here.**

* * *

_Three Months, Two weeks Earlier_

I tested the rope on my wrists; thick nylon, I could feel it. Felt like the rope was attached to this chair through a loop, chair to the floor… beside me Shaundi was wrestling against her own ties, but to my other side, the Boss was really still and quiet. There was only a slight twitch in her arm that told me she was testing the strength of her bindings. I kept slowly working at mine – if I could wear them down, I should be able to break them off…

Ah, best laid plans, right?

The bank heist had been the Boss' idea. A joke at first, when we got a few of these uh… costumes. Of me. We'd been laughing over them, that little kids were wanting to dress up as _me_ for Halloween and one of the designers for Planet Saints thought it would be a good idea to market these bobble-headed costumes.

The Boss was having a right good laugh when we got the prototypes, and just made a throwaway comment about robbing that new bank that had been set up Downtown. The joke had snowballed from there, till me, Boss and Shaundi actually decided to go through with it. It was just like old times… or would have been if we didn't have to drag that fuckin' actor around with us. Needless to say, he fucked it all up, ran off like a bitch and the whole plan went to shit. We got caught, and not just by the cops. Whoever owned that bank, they were no ordinary corporation.

Now, it looked like we were in some nightclub office; I had to remind myself it was actually a plane. A desk was in front of us with the chair facing away. And those twins, the two that'd dragged us outta that jail cell were standing calmly at either end of the desk, wearing identical smirks. That chair slowly swung round, sitting there was some old suit, smoking away. Pretty underwhelming. The Boss didn't give him a chance to speak first.

"Do you have _any_ idea who you're fucking with here?" she hissed. I new that sound and the look she was giving him; he wasn't gonna stay breathing for long. He just didn't seem to realise it.

"Of course," the old fart replied with this thick French accent. One of those twins dropped something on the table next to him and I cringed inwardly – a bobble-head of me.

"A remarkable likeness," he said, flicking the doll. He waved to the twins, "These visions are Viola and Kiki. And I am Philippe Loren, chairman of a multi-national organisation called the Syndicate."

"Never heard of it," Shaundi said flatly.

"Evidently not, or you would not have robbed our bank," he said and waved his hand, "Perhaps you are wondering why you're still breathing at this point?"

"Actually, I wonder why my foot's not up your _ass_ at this point," I shot back, glaring at him. Beside me the Boss' shoulders barely shrugged with a silent laugh.

"Like it or not Mr. Gat, our organisation is expanding into Stilwater," Loren said flatly. I glanced towards the Boss; she was still quiet, calculating. Wasn't hard to read her thoughts though; she was the territorial kind (I should know) and wasn't about to let our city get invaded by any sort of _syndicate_. I started twisting my wrists again, that rope was fraying against the metal hoop-

I glared back at Loren who was still talking.

"I am offering you a chance to leverage your assets against your lives. Ladies?" he said, glancing to the twins who stepped forward. Behind them a huge TV lit up with a pie chart on it, a purple slice getting swallowed up by pink.

"You may continue to operate the Saints/Ultor media group as you see fit, in exchange for 66% of your monthly gross revenue," one of the twins said. I hadn't bothered to try and tell them apart. The second one smirked at us.

"That is before taxes, of course."

"Listen you _French Fuck_-" the Boss snarled but Loren cut her off

"Please, I am Belgian."

Big fuckin' difference… but I saw one of the guards take his gun out, glaring at her. It's second nature to try get the attention away from her.

"Then go make yourself a fuckin' waffle," I said sharply to Loren; that cool look faltered and he glared at me, "We're done here."

Me'n the Boss barely exchanged a glance but we were thinking the same thing. That old asshole seriously thought he could blackmail us? Apparently he did though – he signalled to that suited guard, "And I had so hoped to come to a rational business arrangement…" Loren said lowly.

The guard stepped past the Boss though and stopped in front of me. _Perfect_.

I braced and lurched forward, grunting as I pulled sharply at the chair – the bolts broke up out of the carpet and I fell forward, smacking my head onto that fucker's nose. Then I wrenched my arms, the rope suddenly snapping – the moment I looked up Loren was already on his feet and raced forward, barely saw the flash of silver from the blade before he rammed it into my side, ripping open an old scar.

I growled and grabbed his head, turning and slamming his face into one of the windows which suddenly cracked and burst open –

Then the office was a mess of flying debris and the roaring of the wind. The old man dropped, holding his bleeding face and the second I turned another one of his guards was charging at me. One punch to the throat, a kick to his ribs and he was down.

_The girls_.

I got to the Boss first, quickly untying her before freeing Shaundi – those twins had grabbed Loren and disappeared further down the plane, just as another guy in a suit turned the corner-

"What the hell is going-"

It was instinct; my fingers wrapped around the hilt of the knife and I ripped it out in one moved and threw it at him, the blade sticking into his head. It was only then I realised he was wearing a pilot's uniform and not the flags the other guys had been wearing. _Shit_.

"Boss! You gotta bail!" I shouted to her over the roaring of the wind but she shook her head sharply.

"Not without you!"

That second and more of those guards came charging in; guys in suits and women dressed like strippers in long coats, all with rifles. With one window busted, they didn't seem to care about firing anymore. We quickly ducked behind the desk but it didn't stop them; it was like they were trying to break away the table with bullets. I felt cold, steely fingers around my wrist; she was glaring at me with those baby-blues. Dammit, she knew what I was thinking of doing even before I did. But I had to give the girls a chance to get away-

"What, there's half a dozen guys?" I shouted lightly over the deafening noise, "I can take'em."

"What about the plane?" Shaundi shouted back to me.

"I'll fly it back to Stilwater."

"Johnny you can't even drive stick, how are you gonna fly a plane?"

"Details, details," I said, waving her down, "Just cover the Boss. Go, I got this!"

The Boss' grip got tighter and she snapped at me "Johnny you're not st-"

I grabbed her and quickly crushed my mouth on hers – a cheap distraction, but I had to do it. She had to get out of there.

Even if it meant half throwing her off me and through the open door. I turned when I heard one of the guards getting closer and charged him, landing a heavy hit in his gut and ripping the rifle out of his hands, pumping a few bullets into his head then turning the rifle on the other guards.

I only had half a second to see Shaundi trying to drag the Boss back through the plane. She wasn't going to leave that easily, and I only just managed to reach out and slam that damn door shut. _Get moving woman!_

I turned and fired the rest of the clip into those guards – they shot from the hip, useless fuckin aim, it was no problem clearing them out. A few grazes on the arms but that was it, no trouble. More annoyed about the jacket getting holes in it.

The co-pilot turned and blinked at me, shouting something in French when I stepped into the cockpit – I clipped him loosely on the ear (killing one pilot was a bad enough move as it was) and slumped down into the pilot's seat.

Okay. No problem, I could do this. I'd seen the Boss flying before, she'd talked me through it.

"Alright asshole, we goin' back to Stilwater," I told the co-pilot who blabbed something in French again and tried to stop me as I grabbed the controls, yanking at them. The plane rocked with what felt like turbulence and the co-pilot shouted at me again, going to grab the controls, trying to right the plane.

"Stilwater, you hear?" I growled at the co-pilot who nodded.

"Stilwater, Stilwater, _oui._"

So far so good. I glanced at the massive board of dials and lights, grinning when I saw the microphone intercom. Ah, wanted to do this since I was a kid. I pressed my thumb down on the red button.

"Attention passengers this is your new captain speakin'," I said smoothly, "Our updated flight plan has us landing in Stilwater,"

The co-pilot yelled something in French again and I shoved him off, "I'd like to remind all passengers to remain seated and enjoy the flight,"

Someone started hammering on the cockpit door and I glared over my shoulder. I could only trust Shaundi and the Boss were okay, and let them now everything was running smoothly up my end. The cockpit door shuddered again and I could hear people shouting on the other side. I smirked and shook my head, leaning over to click the intercom on again.

"I can see some of our passengers are getting restless," I said coolly, the sound of their yelling getting even louder, "Here's some relaxing music for your enjoyment."

That French pilot began yammering away at me desperately and tried grabbing the controls out of my hands – I smacked him one, but it was harder than I thought it would be and he slumped back, stunned, in fact for half a second I was pretty sure I'd killed him. It was only when he groaned and tried to pull himself up, he accidentally grabbed at one of the controls and the plane shuddered and tilted. I swore and pulled him back, sitting him up in the seat and wobbling dangerously, quickly grabbing the controls and pulling the plane back straight, slamming my hand down on the intercom and feigning more confidence than I was feeling.

"My apologies, your Captain is having a little trouble finding the clutch-"

I hadn't realised it but I'd left the com on; the voices on the other side of the door had retreated and I wondered if any of them were bailing. How far along the plane would the girls be? I glared over the controls, finding the switch I was looking for and I leaned over to quickly speak into the intercom.

"Yo I'm opening the cargo bay doors, find some chutes and jump out the back it should be clear!"

The pilot next to me nursed his bleeding face and tried to steady his hands on the controls of the plane as it shuddered when I hit the switch. A few lights started blinking, and I glared over my shoulder when the hammering started on the door again, along with the clicking of keys.

"Alright motherfuckers," I growled to myself, then quickly turned back to the intercom, "The door's open!"

Just as I said it, the door to the cockpit banged open and Loren glared at me through the narrow walkway, a few black and red guards in front of him, "KILL HIM!"

They wouldn't shoot, not in here. I jumped up from my chair as the guards charged at me, throwing punches that were too easy to fend off. I caught one guys fist and twisted his arm sharply till I felt the creaking snap of his bone and yanked him past me, smacking my head down on his and he dropped to the ground. I grabbed the next guard, gripping his wrist as he tried to swing a knife at me and I turned the guy, my arm over his throat and I squeezed and twisted till his neck snapped.

"You're gonna need more help than that Frenchy!" I shouted at Loren as the third guard charged at me and I jammed the knife down into his eye. Loren kept his gun trained on me but not risking firing a shot.

"I am Belgian!" he shouted and I snarled at him furiously.

"Same thing!"

"I'm going to cut that disrespectful tongue from your mouth!" He hissed, taking a step back and I gave him a dark glare.

"Oh yeah? You and how many of your-" Loren turned to his side and I stopped talking, seeing half a dozen girls with assault rifles file in behind him, the red laser points trained on my torso. I glanced down uncertainly, "… Oh. That many,"

One of the girls charged me and I grabbed at her, wrestling briefly with her till I heard a voice crackle back to me over the intercom.

"_Johnny We're about to jump!"_ Shaundi shouted over the waves and I grunted as the girl kicked me. I smacked her hard across her face and wrenched the gun from her hands-

"Right on," I shouted over my shoulder to the intercom, "I'll see you in Stil-"

And they fired. I mean it was narrow and they were bad shots, but the searing bullets slammed into my body, one after another and I stumbled, dropping to the ground.

There was so much noise then; the women who'd shot me were screaming, alarms were going off, people were shouting.

I was too stunned to really feel anything, I just crouched over my bullet wounds. Too many to count. Something started leaking in me and stringing, then burning. Breathing started to hurt and blackness was eating at the corner of my eyes.

Then the pain started fading…

Was this it? Was I dying?

I could kinda tell the plane was shuddering and dropping, more people shouting in French. I lifted my gaze up but my head whirled, I musta been losing a lot of blood I tried fighting it, but I was blacking out – the darkness swamped over my eyes and the noise started fading. I can't remember much from there; hands under my arms, dragging me… then the noise and chill of wind, feeling like I was falling. Then something like the rumbling of a car engine, but that was it. I tried fighting that blackness that kept creeping into my head, but eventually, it won.

* * *

There's that sharp stink of smelling salts and I'm awake again. Barely a second later and the pain starts shooting through me, honestly I'm tryin' not to yell out even as I'm buckling over. All I can do is remind myself that gut shots hurt the most, but it takes longer to die from'em.

Christ, I'm dizzy… how much blood have I lost? I can't tell but fuck, must'a been more than a pint… can't even tell where I am.

"I don't think we should have brought him around so soon; let me take another look at him."

Woman's voice. Don't know who. I try and focus but it's hard to see; I'm strapped in another fuckin' chair, I know that much. And they aint takin' any risks this time, they got me strapped down with handcuffs _and_ cable ties. Not that I'm feelin' quite as hale as I was on the plane. Couple'a potholes in the gut will do that to a guy.

Some blonde woman's checkin me over for about three seconds before I hear that fuckin' French _fuck_ talking. God dammit, he was still alive? How did we even get out of that plane? Dammit, where the hell _was_ I?

"Leave him," Loren was saying, not sounding quite as self-righteous as he had been, "He is quite resilient, I assure you, and I have little time to spare."

My head feels like it weighs a ton but I'm kinda aware where I am now, looked like a nice apartment, not an office – and no whining of plane engines. That's a relief… I hear Loren taking a few steps towards me – Got a nice set of stitches and a bandage over his face and I gotta tell ya, it brings a smile to my face.

"Believe me Mr. Gat, you have no reason to be smirking," he said but that almost makes me chuckle.

"Dunno about that," I said with a shrug. Man, talkin' wasn't as easy as it seemed. Made me wanna cough, and when I did I could taste blood in my mouth.

"You are expecting rescue, I suppose. You shouldn't be. I still haven't decided if I'll let you live."

"Then flip a fuckin' coin," I spat. Christ, I'm tired… I mean I been through plenty, but this was… I wasn't sure if they'd stitched me up at all but… these bullet holes are really testing me here.

"I think you'll find, Mr. Gat, I'm a little more discerning when it comes to objects that offer me leverage."

Then of all fuckin' things, my phone starts ringing. Loren raises and eyebrow and walks over to me, unzipping my jacket pocket – I wrestle against it till those damn cable ties nearly cut my hands off, but he yanks the phone free, narrowing his eyes at the caller ID. He shows it to me.

"Who's this then?"

I blink. _The Boss_. I got her under her real name in my phone, as far as I knew I was the only one who knew what it was. And if she's calling me at least I know she made it, she was safe. So long as she was safe… Then Loren chuckles, he must'a seen something in my expression.

"_Really?_ Such a pretty name for such a ferocious woman! Though if you take into account biblical references, I must say, quite fitting."

He goes to answer it and I snarl at him, "I will fucking tear you ap-"

Some guard who must'a been behind me yanks fabric over my mouth and clamps one of his hands on my neck. I twist and glare at him; this guy is huge, like Maero's size, and he's got the stupidest fucking wrestling mask on.

A fucking. Wrestling. Mask.

I try yelling against the fabric when I hear him answer and for the first moment, I can just hear her on the other line. Loren chuckles. She goes quiet, and he starts speaking.

"The body of Mr. Gat will be a message for all those who oppose the Syndicate," he says without preamble. I try yelling against the fabric again, trying to let her know I was still alive, but that fucking wrestler just clamps down tighter on me. Loren keeps talking into the phone, "There is no mercy, only death. Do not mourn your friend; you will be joining him soon."

_Don't believe him baby,_ I think, closing my eyes. Even if he does kill me… I'm trying to imagine her reaction and at the same time, trying not to. What if she believes him? What if she thinks I'm dead, what would she do?

… She'd do what she does to anyone who hurts someone she cares about. She'd end them. Brutally. Bury them alive, stab them in the face, crush them in the trunk of a car…

I start chuckling and Loren turns on me, he's glarin' and trying to look scary which only makes me start to laugh harder, even when I have to choke out the laugh over the pain in my insides.

"What is it you find so amusing?" Loren spits and I grin up at him. I shouldn't have laughed; one lung feels pretty sore now and I can't really breathe. Fillin' up with blood, probably. That'll be a bitch…

"_You_, you stupid motherfucker." Even when I'm tryin' to talk my voice sounds weak, but this is all too damn satisfying, "You got no idea what you just did. What, you think she's gonna be scared? She's gonna fall apart? Fuckin' dumbass."

I shake my head and grin down at the carpet. That pain's startin' to go away and I'm kinda cold… not a good sign. I cringe and fight for consciousness; I look back up to Loren.

"If she thinks _you_ killed me, you got seven kinds of hell comin' your way. I know that woman better than anyone and I seen her take down bigger targets. She'll crush you like a bug under a bowling ball."

Weird analogy. Not sure where it came from. Loren's lookin' at me all curious now, "…She really cares for you that much?" he says and I make myself stay quiet. He starts chuckling then, "Well, I like the rest of the world have heard the rumours of how… _intimate_ your acquaintance with her really was… Tell Mr. Gat, how far do you think she would go to get you back?"

_She'd level a fucking city_. I don't say it though; I just give him a flat look. Not hard to do, my vision's getting pretty dark and I'm thinkin' I'm about to pass out again… or maybe I was going to die. That thought brings me back around; I'm _not_ going to fuckin' die here. I'm gonna kill this mother fucker and I'm gonna get back home to the Saints, and my girl. I focus on her. It takes me a second to realise that Loren is still crapping on,

"…few specimens of human life as resilient as you, or displayed such amazing feats of strength. You remind me very much of the Russian experiment. Speaking of which, I understand my leading technician is now searching for a new guinea pig… perhaps you may be of use to _her_, while I contemplate how you may be of use to _me_."

Guinea pig?

I glare at him and I can feel blood swirling in my mouth; I don't got a lot of strength left, but more than enough for a decent hock – I snarl and spit in that French fuck's face, letting myself one tired smirk when I see the red running down his faggot scarf. He wipes a few flecks away from his face and glared at me, pulling out a knife.

"And I thought I despised that disrespectful tongue the most," he says as he takes a few steps closer. I feel one of the guards grab my head and hold me still and I start fighting them, even when the pain in my stomach starts ripping at me and I nearly black out again. Two more of those goons are holding me down and Loren glares down at me, reaching out and grabbing my chin. _Christ, that motherfucker was actually gonna cut my tongue out?_

He goes to stick the blade into my mouth and I clench my teeth – one of those beefy fuckers grabs my jaw hard, but Loren slips the blade down the side of my cheek and glared at me.

"I am thinking that insolent smirk is far more annoying."

I only got about half a second before I realise what he meant – and the shocked yell beats out of my chest when he suddenly rips the blade outwards from the corner of my mouth; I taste more blood, and over the stinging pain there's that cold feeling you get when there's a hole somewhere it shouldn't be, a slice running right through my cheek. I want to say something to him but even the thought of tryin' to speak and every muscle over my face just spasms.

He turned away from me, smirking.

"I think we have discussed enough. Nurse? If you will?"

There's a little bee-sting on my neck and I know she got me with a needle, injecting something cool into my vein. It hits quick, the sound goes, my vision goes, and finally consciousness slips away.

There's no fighting it this time.

* * *

**C'mon. Like _I_ was going to let Johnny die?**


	4. The Belgian Connection

**This is turning out to be an interesting fic to write; more like two separate stories running parallel to each other before colliding. Big shout out to my reviewers, great to be hearing from you guys again!**

**Speaking of old friends... Saints Row: Devestation is finally back, a neat little supernatural fic by HeartWritingM. I've gotten absolutly hooked on the damn thing!**

**Anyway, here's to my first shot at something a bit sci-fi. Be gentle...**

* * *

Cyrus hadn't thought he'd be able to escape the rain; it fell like a waterfall from the black umbrella now, the muddy splashback soaking through the hems of his suit pants.

It really didn't matter. If anything, he preferred it; it drove away what little family she'd had who'd come to mourn. He finally had a moment alone with her. Cyrus knelt before the tombstone, dropping a single rose onto the packed, wet soil.

"… Kia," he started quietly, but suddenly unsure of how to continue. He stared at the stone, water running in rivers down the epitaph, the words a vague jumble of letters that really meant nothing to him. Instead, he said what felt most natural.

"I'm sorry Kia," he mumbled swiftly.

He was. He was sorry he ever let her get hurt like that, he was sorry he had left their relationship where it was. It was only one night that they'd shared, and he'd refused to allow anything to go any further, not while there was work to do, not while they had gangs to fight. Besides that he'd considered her the best second in command he'd ever had so naturally there was the fear of ruining what was already good. But suddenly, she was gone. He'd never taken the opportunity, he'd let it all slip through his fingers through his own pride and stupidity.

With an uncomfortable grunt he pushed himself up to his feet; old war wounds always played up with the rain. At his feet, the rose was already muddy, rain soaking through to the coffin six feet below him. Cyrus scowled.

He'd make the Saints _pay_ for this. He didn't know how; STAG had been officially disbanded after the incident on Magarac Island, and he'd been moved back to the Stilwater Private Militia for Senator Hughes.

He barely bristled at the sound of heavy footfalls behind him. The stranger stopped a few paces short, and when he didn't turn to them, they spoke.

"I can guess your thoughts at this moment."

That voice was familiar – he snapped his head around, whirling on the man. He was huge and Caucasian, slightly balding and generally looked older than he should have been. He'd dressed himself in a slate grey suit, the shirt underneath a mint green colour.

Edward Pryor. 'Killbane'

Cyrus snarled and was about to draw his gun before Eddie held up his hands, "I'm not here to fight," he warned his old nemesis quickly, "I'm here because we have a common goal. A common enemy."

He lowered his gun and scowled.

"… The Saints," He said quietly, and Eddie nodded.

"Even now the Saints are trying to track me down," he said quickly and Cyrus could sense the man wasn't comfortable being in the open anymore. Eddie continued, "Once they find me, they'll kill me if I can't strike first."

Cyrus wasn't moved, "Don't tell me you're coming here to try and strike a deal just to save your own hide, you piece of shit," he shot coldly, "Just because we're both out for revenge on the same woman doesn't mean I want to help you."

"And believe me I don't want to help you either," Eddie returned just as icily, "But it's become pretty clear that alone, neither one of us will be able to take her out, not anymore. You have fire power, but not enough to take them on. I have a bargaining chip, but nothing to defend it with. And those Saints have made more than a few enemies; it won't be hard to find people who'll join us."

At that Cyrus started paying attention; he took a long moment to observe the other man, taking in his expression. He could still feel Kia, though it was only her lifeless body buried beneath him. He'd promised vengeance… And Killbane was hinting he could make it happen.

"… I'm listening."

"We combine what we have," Eddie started again without hesitation at Cyrus' consent, "You recruit from your team, pull some favours, some friends from STAG, use whatever you can-"

"And what are you offering then?" Cyrus asked impatiently, "A few street thugs?"

Eddie scowled and habitually cracked his knuckles and neck to release the tension, "I told you, I've already got a bargaining chip. A little something leftover from Loren, something not even Viola or Matt were made aware of," he said darkly and was unable to help the slight smirk that tugged at his lips. Cyrus' curiosity piqued again.

"Which would be…?"

Eddy couldn't hold back the smirk any longer. "I think you need to be shown it to believe it," he said "Which works out very well for _me._ With your help I can leave the country, find Matt and regroup. And yes, _then_ I'll show you what it is Loren left behind."

Cyrus hesitated; he looked from Eddie, to the Stilwater skyline, to the ground. _Kia…_

"…Where do we have to go?"

* * *

Cyrus had never coped well with jet lag, and jumping from Stilwater to New York to Brussels and then to Liege had left him nearly comatose even during the long drive through the winding mountain roads. He was still sound asleep by the time the car pulled up on a gravelly drive in the shadow of a tall stone building; a sudden rap on the window caused him to snort awake, and the door was opened by a young man wearing a scarlet vest.

"_Welkom meneer. Op deze manier kunt u_," he greeted politely stepping aside and indicating to the large oak doors of the building. Cyrus however, was more familiar with South East Asian dialects, not European. He glared at the young man and grunted as he slipped tiredly from the car.

"Hn?"

The valet flinched uncertainly, "_Er… Parlez-vous français?_"

"English," he grunted sorely with a shake of his head. He blinked through the darkness; it was overcast and the dead of night, the only light from the headlights of the car and the security torch by the front door. The area was surrounded by thick dark forest, and the huge building was barely lit.

"Ah. This way if you please," the valet responded through an accent so thick it was still difficult to understand him. Cyrus snapped his exhausted attention back to the man, feeling a little irritated; he didn't have a clue where the hell he was for one thing, and he and Eddie had been picked up by separate cars from the airport.

"Guessin you already got my bags?" he grumbled, "Killbane already get here?"

"… My English very bad," the Valet said dismissively, leading Cyrus into the entrance hall. Cyrus became aware of where he must have been; the old stone and tapestries indicated one of the medieval great houses or castles of Europe, though without seeing the size he couldn't be sure which. A clatter from the central stairs caught his attention; the valet discreetly bowed and spirited himself away as Eddie Pryor strolled casually down into the foyer. Though still dressed in the clothes he travelled in showing Cyrus he hadn't arrived many minutes before, he was still not looking half as haggard as Cyrus felt.

"Your driver get lost?" was all the greeting he gave. Cyrus snarled.

"This chip of yours had better be good," he replied just as coolly. Eddie was unperturbed; he seemed more than at home in the ancient building.

"You can take some time to settle in if the trip _really_ was that rough," he said, voice patronising and sarcastic and grating on Cyrus' last nerve. He stalked sharply towards the stairs.

"Let's get this over with," Cyrus shot heatedly, "I'm not here for a _vacation_."

Eddie only shrugged; yes, he was certainly much more in his element, like a lion in his den. Steelport was no longer safe or comfortable, but _here_ he could be king. He wordlessly sauntered past his guest with only the briefest indication to follow, and began the long tour through the dark, winding hallways. As they continued through, the formal décor began to vanish and was replaced by fresh, modern furniture, steel and glass which was stark and out of place against the feudal stone and architecture.

"What _is_ this place?" Cyrus finally asked as Killbane pressed open another heavy oak door which led to a winding staircase, lit by halogens roughly wired down the wall. Killbane spoke as they followed the stairs down.

"This property has been in Loren's family for generations; plundered after the Second World War and it was a long time before Loren bothered to do anything with it. Being secluded as it is, he turned it into one of his research facilities for some of his more… controversial projects."

"And here we were told you were all nothing but street thugs and gang bangers who'd gotten too big for their boots."

"The Syndicate is far more ingrained in the world's industry and politics than you think. Without the Syndicate, STAG wouldn't have ever developed that… what would you call it? Biological weapon?"

"If you're talking about the zombies, that was an experiment on cell regeneration gone awry. The technician responsible for the defective material has been deal with accordingly."

Eddie only chuckled. They reached an iron gate which led to what Cyrus assumed might have once been the dungeons and cellar; the air was icy and would be suddenly punctuated by patches of hot air from the wall mounted heaters. The only light glowed eerily from a wall of computer screens down the far end and occasionally pinkish glows that came from inside cells along other winding hallways. Other spaces had clearly been dedicated to various lab stations, but it was the computers that held dominion. Sitting in front of the screens on a short ergonomic stool was a woman, perhaps in her early fifties with her grey-streaked hair wrapped up on her head in a bun, fastened with a collection of pencils. She waved only briefly over her shoulder to tell the two men she knew they were there, quickly finishing what she was typing up. Cyrus frowned and followed Eddie forward. The woman was silent, still working away before finally swivelling on her stool, peering at the men over her glasses and standing to greet them.

"Monsieur Pryor and Temple?" she assumed, her voice heavily laden with a French accent. Eddie, ever the showman, stepped forward with a wide warm smile and took the woman's petite, calloused hands in his own.

"Nanette," he greeted, "I've heard a lot about you."

Nanette was not a woman to be impressed by flattery and continued to look up at the two men flatly.

"I have heard Loren is dead. I'm sorry for that," she said in a tone so flat it was clear she couldn't care either way. Cyrus raised an eyebrow at the woman.

"You work for him then?"

"_Oui_," she responded, then thoughtfully tilted her head, "And no. I stay here, I continue to be paid, I study whatever I like and no one bothers me."

"Nanette is the Syndicate's leading technician for research and development," Eddie informed Cyrus.

"And you stay here alone?"

"Aside from groundskeeper, yes. Since Max left, subjects One and Two have been my only agreeable companions," she said wistfully, and there was a hint of tenderness about her mouth. Quickly she snapped back, fixing her impish gaze on the two men again, "Now. What is it I can do for you two gentlemen?"

"We're here to see subject Two. And I think it's in my friend Cyrus' best interest he understands… the nature of the project."

Nanette smiled at this; she was fond of her work and it was the only subject she was ever happy discussing.

"Max and I were Mr. Lorens' leading biologists; as a matter of fact we initiated the Russian experiment. Once the cloning process had been stabilised, of course, the project was moved to Steelport and we started on something new here. Investigating the biological properties of Subject One," she said, and then dramatically hit a few buttons on the console in front of her, bringing up a file. A Hispanic male figure appeared on the screen, besides images of lumps of flesh and hair in Petri dishes and graphics of DNA strands. Cyrus frowned at the medical mumbo-jumbo and turned his attention back to the woman as she continued.

"Our intentions differed however; I was curious about the regenerative abilities when subject One's flesh was combined with certain specimens of living tissue. Professor Dubois was more inclined to the _reanimating_ effects. He left to infiltrate your research and development department on Loren's orders, but took his pet project with him. And from the chaos I have heard of on Arapice Island, I can only assume his experimenting has worked, though it is a shame things got so out of hand," she finished with a happy sigh, smiling at the two, "What is it you Americans say? Murphy's law?"

Cyrus however was dumbfounded; that sick fuck scientist who'd been court marshalled over the zombie incident… "You're telling me Dubois was a _mole_?" he spat. Nanette only shrugged.

"Do not be so surprised. And if you are working with us, there is no need to have secrets," she said, then suddenly brightened excitedly, "Actually, would you like to see subject One? He is really an astounding specimen-"

"Later," Eddie interjected impatiently, "I'm here to show him the other one."

Nanette blinked at him, reading something in his expression Cyrus couldn't catch. Eventually she slowly nodded, "… It's time then? Well. Follow me."

She stood and sauntered past them, leading them down one of the cold hallways lines with cells. A warm pink glow emanated from each one and when Cyrus looked in, he was surprised at what he saw. Large, egg-shaped pods filled with crimson gel, surrounded by a shell of stainless steel machinery.

"…I know these contraptions," he mused aloud.

"The pods are my pride and joy, the result of our combined efforts," Nanette announce proudly, "Max and I, that is. We designed them for the Russian Project; they can keep the subject in perfect stasis, particularly useful when subjects are suffering mortal wounds or illness. We were considering global marketing however Monsieur Loren was hesitant about sharing the technology… Here."

By now she'd led them to the end of the hallway, stopping at a cell and pushing the ancient iron gate open; being the only other person aside from the valet and groundskeeper living there, the instinct to lockup had long since dissolved.

The cell glowed eerily pink from the pod, the very same apparatus used to grow the Russian Brute clones. The occupant of this pod, however, caused Cyrus to stop dead in his tracks, jaw dropping.

"I don't… I don't _believe_ it-"

"Neither did I at first," Killbane responded as Cyrus stepped further into the cell and up to the pod. He peered past his own translucent reflection, through the murky crimson gel and to the comatose man inside.

Johnny Gat's motionless body hung weightlessly in the gel, an oxygen mask over his mouth and leads and tubes running from his skin, skin that was puckered with scars and tattoos. His hair had been shaved clean off and was now only just growing back into a short crown of black spikes over a net of scars.

Cyrus turned to look back at Nanette and Killbane disbelievingly.

"He's supposed to be _dead_."

"It's not for lack of trying, believe me. But even after everything we put that man through his heart just kept on beating, and it was Loren's decision to keep him and… _regenerate_ him," Eddie said, scowling and folding his arms over his chest. "Of course, after the Saints got to Loren plans for Gat dissipated. I had no idea how to use him, and if the Leader of the Saints ever found out he was still alive, you can only imagine what she'd do to get him back."

"I… dammit, this is one hell of a bargaining chip," Cyrus finally consented and Eddie chuckled. Cyrus frowned, "Why the pod then? He doesn't look injured so… why keep him like this?"

At this Nanette took a few steps forward to stand by him.

"He was transported here in it. Subject Two's injuries were grave, more than standard surgical procedures were used to be assured he would survive so I made him my first test subject. The pod helped during the recovery process, though the first time we woke him up he was fighting us instantly and nearly escaped," she said but was chuckling at the memory. At Cyrus' strange look she continued, eyes sparkling with pride, "He was so _strong_ and inhumanly resilient; _perfect_ proof my theories and experiment had been a success! Max had only wanted to reanimate the dead. I gave _living flesh_ greater life."

Cyrus cringed and began to wonder if the years of isolation had done some permanent damage to this woman's mind. She ploughed on regardless.

"Loren decided after that he should be kept comatose and in stasis until a decision was made on how to best utilise him. The pod is the most effective way of keeping him healthy. If he were to lie in a hospital bed his body could become entropic and he would require much more care. With the pod, I need only check in every few days at most."

"Why did Loren even think he could bring Gat under control? I'd think Gat would sooner die than betray his gang," Eddie mused, more to himself than to the others. Nanette frowned.

"The chemicals used to create the Zombies and those used on Subject Two had the same origin, being Subject One," she said thoughtfully, "I think Loren hoped this would mean Subject Two's mind would be lost, just like the un-dead. Perhaps that way he could be influenced. It wasn't so."

Cyrus was nodding, feeling a headache coming on. This… this was a lot to take in.

Eddie however was through staring at the man in the egg and loudly cleared his throat to grab the other two's attention.

"Now Cyrus is fully up to speed with the situation, we might discuss our options for Gat?"

Nanette scowled and folded her arms over her chest, but Cyrus found himself a little relieved. This weird-science stuff was a little out of his area of expertise, but tactics, he could do.

"If we let the Saints know we have him here they'll come and wipe the place out to get at us. You know they will, they've finished off harder targets," he said. Stating the obvious problems aloud, he felt, often helped find the obvious answers.

"But they won't risk _his_ life," Eddie responded knowingly, "The Saint's leader chose to save her crew instead of coming after me; I know she won't want to loose _Gat_ a second time. If she knows he's alive she won't be thinking clearly, she'll make mistakes.

"There is the option Monsieur Loren and I had discussed shortly before his demise," Nanette piped up loudly, seemingly irritated for having been so abruptly cut out. The two men blinked at her.

"Which is?"

"Laser brain surgery," she said, so lightly and throwaway she might have been suggesting they all go out for pizza. "Locating the part of the brain where his long term memory is stored and zapping it. Effectively, we give him amnesia then rebuild the mind and memories from a clear slate."

"That sounds a little trite," Cyrus replied flatly and Eddie nodded.

"Maybe, but the real trouble is that with a procedure like that, one wrong move and he's effectively lobotomised."

"Then he will be no more useless to you than he is now," Nanette said with a shrug and Eddie and Cyrus had to exchange glances at that.

"…It's our best chance at being able to get the deadliest man on the planet on our side," Eddie finally conceded and Cyrus glared at him.

"… So that's your plan, is it?" he said dryly and Eddie shrugged.

"If you want to elaborate on it I won't take issue with that."

Cyrus was silent as he weighed his options; despite having a common goal he was irresolute in trusting the other man so implicitly, "… What do you want out of this, ultimately?"

"I want the Leader and Angel De La Muerte dead," Eddie replied swiftly, "I want the Saints out of Steelport and I want my gang back. And you?"

Cyrus' mind drifted back to Kia; he felt his hands clench into fists and scowled, "… I want the Saint to watch as she loses what means most to her… again. _Then_ I want her dead."

Eddie nodded knowingly, "… Once they're cleared, we go our separate ways?"

"I'll gladly never see or speak to you again," Cyrus shot at him swiftly.

"So we have a deal?"

"… We have a deal."

* * *

**Err... any questions?**


	5. Cry Havoc

**Phew! Please excuse the late update... minor side project snatching a bit of my attention. We're back in Steelport now, picking up the BOss where we left her.**

* * *

As I started coming down I didn't waste time getting to one of the labs and picking up a little Loa Dust. I knew it couldn't change anything and I knew it was pathetic to use it as a crutch, but at that point I really didn't care. I pulled the car up into a parking lot overlooking the beach, rubbing a sore spot over my heart and resting my head on the steering wheel, allowing my maudlin tendencies to take over.

How was I supposed to do this without him? For what was nearly ten years now he'd been a part of me…

I seemed to slowly wash back and forth between the two. Little by little the pain would swallow me up, tearing at me, sucking away everything that used to keep me whole. I'd be broken and alone… then that loneliness would warp itself into something taunting and cruel and I'd start to shake. The pain ebbed as the uncertainty started growing in me as again and again I realized that Johnny was gone.

And the more I realized that, the more the pain grew, pushing everything aside to take over again. The term 'vicious cycle' had never made more sense to me. What was maddening was that I knew I couldn't function at my best like this, I had to find some way of breaking it up.

Impatiently I reached into the glove box for my stash, giving myself a mental slap in the face as I took a larger-than-necessary pinch of dust and packed it into the little brass pipe. Loa Dust… how long had it been since the last time? Years now… I held the lighter on and took another deep breath, the bitter smoke slipping through my mouth and filling my lungs; I closed my eyes, and held the breath for as long as I could. It was like riding a bike, I could time it that easily... The muscles start to relax, you feel a little lightheaded, colors start to brighten then slowly everything intensifies. After a long while, I finally released the thick plume of grey smoke, which curled and fogged against the glass. I took another long drag, quickly burning my way through the first pinch, my eyes getting a little dry as I took in the lovely curling shapes the smoke was making. The light glinted through it, making soft colours and rainbows… I relaxed back into my car seat, going for another drag till the pipe burned dry. The fog filled my mind... the horrible pain began to dull.

I took another pinch, packing it down into the pipe and striking the flame up again. I took a deep breath. I held it and waited. I wasn't disappointed.

The light and shadows bent through the some, splitting into ribbons of black and white, the blackness creeping over the walls of the car, coming to comfort me. Lovely, lovely blackness. I breathed in the smoke again, hoping this one might be able to carry off the pain...

_Whoah. My blood feels heavy. My head feels heavy._ Those dancing shadows were getting closer; my lazy, clumsy fingers fumbled for the lever on the seat and I let it drop back, looking up as the black and white bits of smoke crawl over the ceiling, gently dripping down onto my face. My body felt numb and heavy, but that hole in me, that pain was still there. Softened, a little further away, but it was still there… I glance at the clock on the dash, aware that the music coming from the radio has been slipping by me and leaking out of my brain. By the next time I look at the clock, half an hour had suddenly disappeared. Whoops...

I twirled the pipe in my fingers. If a little's good, more must be better. I pushed myself up and my clumsy fingers reached to the pouch for a third pinch, trying to pack it into the pipe, if the world could just stay _still_ for a moment…

I flick the lighter on… _oh wow… pretty fire… fire that turns purple…_ I lit the dust and put the pipe to my lips, sucking in deeply. I held and waited again. The world started vanishing… becoming nothingness. I'm stared at my window, a square of black framed with a little light. There's a sharp pain on my thigh...

_Oh. Oh _ouch_. Ow…_

I glanced down at my leg and that purple flame was still coming out of the lighter, curling up the side of my leg. I cringed and I could see my skin turning red and I flicked the lighter off; _that burn probably hurts way more than I realize…_ but I felt strangely calm looking at the mark. The searing on my skin distracted me and I find for the first time I wasn't thinking about the hollow agony in my chest. I struck up another flame, finding a new patch of skin…

I cringed. My hand shook and the flame turned from purple into red when the fire touched my skin again. My eyes slipped closed to focus on it.

"…Could you not do that?"

I blinked and glanced to the passenger seat and the speaker-

"Whoa! Shit!" I gasped sluggishly and toppled against the car door, the world tipped around me as I tired to right myself and the fresh burns stung sharply when I bumped them. I gulped, blinking at the vision before me, then awkwardly raised my hand by means of a greeting.

"Hey Carlos."

There he was, sitting in the passenger seat and frowning at me. Intact though, which was nice. His warm toned skin wasn't shredded, he had both his eyes, no bullet hole in his head.

"Whoah so… you're not a zombie are you?" I asked, my words sluggishly frolicking out of my mouth like drunken fairies. Carlos smiled warmly.

"Pretty sure I'm not," he said, briefly inspecting his arms. I narrowed my eyes suspiciously at him.

"… You haven't aged."

"Yeah, that tends to stop after you die," he said with a silent laugh.

"… Are you a ghost?" I asked and he shook his head.

"You don't believe in ghosts."

"I didn't believe in zombies either…" I said, leaning in towards him to get a closer look. Maybe this is why Shaundi warned never to go more than two pinches. Carlos looked good though. Young. I could see my reflection in his chocolate eyes… "Wow you have _huge_ eyes. You're like, you're like _Bambi_."

He smiled at me sadly, then nodded down at my leg, "…Why you doing that _nena_?"

"Argh… there's smoke in my ears…"

"Nena?"

"Hmn?"

"Focus," he said, reaching out a hand but not touching me, "Put the lighter down."

I looked to the lighter and was about to close it, but I wanted to see the fire again, I flicked it on and off, the sparks leaping off the flint and dancing around through the smoke like fireflies.

"Wow… Carlos _look_…" I breathed and he cleared his throat impatiently.

"You know _nena_, you're hallucinating me for a reason the least you could do is pay attention."

I rolled my eyes and glared at him flatly, _"Bien, ¿qué quieres?"_

Carlos blinked at me and smiled, "Since when did you learn to speak Spanish?"

"If you're in my head you should know that," I said matter-of-factly. I'd decided to learn Spanish about a year ago, mostly from boredom. I wasn't very good, but I was improving. "Oh! And I found out what _quiero cogerte_ means, you little pervert."

Carlos grinned and winked at me slyly, "Wondering when you would."

I shifted him my seat to be a bit more comfortable, absently rubbing at the fresh burn on my leg. I flicked at the lighter, striking up a new flame and looking at it.

"Don't. Put it away," Carlos warned sharply and I raised an eyebrow at him.

"What was that? Don't put it away?"

"Nena…"

I flicked the light on the bright golden flame leapt out, roaring into red and purple, aching to touch my skin again.

"Nena don't do that."

"You know nene…" I said quietly, watching the flame, "I've gone through so much shit… getting blown up and shot and totaled in car crashes. I can take that. But… but _this_? I just… I guess it's easier to wear the pain than carry it."

"…Did that happen when I died?" he asked, though it sounded more like a statement. I shifted uncomfortably, clicking the flame on and off like a nervous habit. I flicked it harder and it jumped out of my hand, toppling out of sight.

"I went somewhere else when you died. I guess the difference was I had people to bring me back," I said lowly, my words feeling thick as they moved sluggishly from my mouth, "I had Johnny, he helped me but this time… I…" I cringed, the horrible pain fighting through my blissful high, and I began desperately hunting under the seat, "Fuck where's my lighter? Dammit…" I spread my fingers through the grassy carpet, but no lighter. Dammit, _dammit_… my hands were shaking and that pain was getting worse, the horror and loneliness and that fucking, fucking _pain_-

I slammed my fingernails into the raw burns on my leg and dug in, gritting my teeth. It racked my nerves, the sting shot right through every muscle of my body. _This_ was bearable. _This_ I could handle. Even when the shadows began creeping up through the car and wrapping excitedly around me, I could handle it. Blackness. Numbness. I dug my nails in further.

"Please stop that," Carlos asked sadly, and I saw him trying to reach out to me. I glared at him-

"What are you supposed to be then, my conscience?" I hissed through gritted teeth, collapsing down onto the soft cold seat. My body was heavy now and I let my leg go, wiping the blood off on my shirt. I trembled, the crippling ache still echoing around my limbs.

"Possibly," he replied flatly, "Or maybe I'm your sense of self preservation."

"Whaddyou mean?"

"C'mon nena, this isn't you," he said with a sharpness I hadn't heard from him before, "Wallowing like this? When I died, you went after Jessica, Maero, even their tattooist. Didn't you feel better?"

"Yeah well revenge is kinda like Chinese food, you _think _you're satisfied but an hour later…" I shook my head. I'd gotten revenge for so many of my friends, but it never brought them back, "Besides,Loren's already dead."

"Killbane and Matt aren't…"

I glanced at him sideward at his subtle prod, and I raised my eyebrow delicately, "Carlos Mendoza, you're supposed to be the _good_ one."

"I'm the one trying to keep you together now," he said flatly, his usual gentle tone missing from the apparition before me, "You really want to stay locked up in this car baking your brain or do you want to do something about it? You know there was a time before Saint's Flow and movie deals when you buried people alive and crushed them in the trunks of cars for crossing you," he was speaking sharply now and I flinched at his tone – his accent was gone, "You tore apart Ultor for being corporate thugs and you know what you are now? A fucking corporate thug!"

"…Carlos this doesn't sound like you…" I offered quietly and he wrung his hands.

"Of course it doesn't!" he exclaimed, "These are _your_ thoughts not mine! I'm a fucking hallucination!"

"A very lucid one at that. What happened to your accent?"

"We traded in our dicks for pussies," he said, Johnny's voice suddenly breaking through out of Carlos, I blinked, but when he next spoke the thin Mexican accent had been layered back on, "Why are Killbane, Matt and Cyrus still alive? And what the fuck is a _Planet Saints?_ You've got work to do nena."

I blinked at him, feeling invigorated. He was right… he was so _fucking right_.

I fumbled at my keys and wrenched the ignition on.

"…You sure you should be driving?" he asked worriedly. I grinned back at him wickedly, impatient to get on the move.

"Nope. But I got shit to get organized…"

* * *

Pierce frowned as he glanced about the street; more and more Saints were converging there, all equally puzzled as to the means of their summons.

"Yo, you think they all got the message too?" he asked Shaundi. Both lieutenants had gotten the same text from the Boss, a cryptic little message: _Meet me at Loren Square Planet Saints, 8pm VIS. Be strapped._

VIS- Very Important Situation, one of the Boss' little acronyms.

"I don't doubt it… she's got something dramatic planned, I can feel it," Shaundi grumbled. She glared up to the Planet Saints across the road curiously; there were a collection of cars out the front of it; a Luchador truck, a Morningstar sedan and a Decker hatchback, all blocking the way into the building and holding the Saints back from it. The entire street held scars of a recent fire-fight, there were patches of blood everywhere and even the occasional body. A shell of a car was burning nearby, casting an eerie glow over the buildings in the moonlight. Shaundi edged a little closer to Pierce, just as Viola wove her way through the crowd towards them.

"Where's the Boss?" she asked with a frown the moment she arrived, and Pierce shook his head, glancing over the street.

"I don't like this," he said finally, "I knew I shouldn't have let her go off on her own, who the fuck knows what she's gonna do."

"Why, what happened?" Viola asked, her tone hard.

"Tell you about it later. Everyone else here?" Shaundi queried, following Pierce's lead and hunting through the crowd. Zimos she spied against a far wall, surrounded by a group of his girls. A truck pulled up on the far side of the crowd, Oleg jumping out from the tray and going to graciously open the driver's side door. Kinzie hopped out, cringing at the huge crowd and sticking close by Oleg, seeming to feel a little safer in his shadow. Angel was the last one she noticed. He was the only one not looking about in wonderment, his focus instead on the Planet Saints, or more accurately, the statue at the top of it.

Or more accurately than that, the dark figure almost entirely obscured by the shadows, the only indication of her being the glowing red cherry of her cigarette. Shaundi nudged Pierce hard and pointed up to the roof of the building.

"There."

Pierce followed her gaze and blinked.

"What is she doing?"

The little red light was flicked down and stubbed out under a bare foot Eventually she stepped forward out of the shadows, the hot light of the fire illuminating her. As people began to notice, the Saints fell into a quick hush.

The Boss gazed down at them all regally, then once nothing but silence met her, she held her palms out to them.

"I wanted to thank you all for coming," she announced, projecting her voice only _just_ enough for her crew to hear her, though many of them still strained. Another thick, pregnant silence fell, and finally, she began speaking again.

"…Planet Saints. A gang's fucking gift shop… never thought I'd see the day when the Saints whored themselves like this…" she mused aloud, glancing over her shoulder to the statue standing behind her. The Boss looked back down onto the crowd. "There was a time when the Saints meant more than this. When we stood for something. We were God's unwanted children and we took control of a world that was trying to crush us. But somewhere along the way… I turned into the very thing I'd been fighting against my whole life. _That ends tonight!_"

The Lieutenants shot each other uncertain looks. Pierce was the most concerned; Shaundi looked a little annoyed. Viola was watching the Boss pensively as were Oleg and Kinzie. Zimos had a vaguely amused smile over his lazy features. Angel kept his intense gaze fixed on her, a smile hinting at his mouth. The Boss stepped forward, closer to the edge of the roof, becoming more visible in the light. When she next spoke, her words were louder and more commanding.

"This sellout celebrity life is fuelled by greed, and let me tell you something comrades- _greed is for pussies_. Greed is for the boring and empty and the weak, the sort of people who have nothing else worth living for. Greed has us convinced that we were defined by our jobs and our cars and the clothes on our backs." She was gaining momentum now, her aura engulfing the hypnotized audience.

"When I became a Saint, it wasn't because of greed. It wasn't with the dreams of becoming a millionaire. I became a Saint, because it offered me a life I couldn't get anywhere else… the life of the _outlaw_. Total freedom from the bullshit confines of society! I'm not protected by it and I'm not bound by it. Being a Saint gave me the freedom to be more than what society demanded me to be."

She was on the verge of shouting, and they could see a deep seeded anger bubbling up beneath her as she threw a dark gaze back to the statue.

"Lunch boxes? Bobble Heads? A movie called _Gangstas in Space?_ For fucks sake!" she cursed, turning back to the Saints who watched on breathlessly, some becoming edgy and nodding in agreement with their leader, dark, excited smiles flitting through the crowd.

"I failed you," she said lowly, "I failed the Saints. I let our enemies go free. But no more, it's ending _tonight_," her brief maudlin air suddenly evaporated, giving way to the fury and passion that racked over her body, "We are wiping out every last Luchador, Morningstar and Decker in this city, and then we're finding Cyrus, Killbane, and Matt Miller and we're _finishing_ them."

The true Saints gave a gutsy roar at her in response; some of the newer initiates were looking about with uncertain excitement. She gazed down on them with a satisfied smile, raising her hand and holding up what looked like a trigger.

"The corporate whores are gone. The _Saints_, are back."

With that, she hit the switch, and there was barely a second before the sudden explosion slammed across the block, the windows of the Planet Saints bursting forward in the abrupt eruption, fire spewing from them as they shot flaming debris across the road, the many cars parked out the front rocking with the impact and shielding the crew from injury. There were many shocked shouts and some scrambled for cover before realizing they were safe, looking back up to the shop in horror as the black smoke billowed up over the orange flames. As it cleared, they could spy the Boss, still standing regally before the Saint of Saints, head held high and a dangerous smile playing over her eyes, her hair picked up by the hot currents of air and wrapping about her.

The crew erupted into bloodthirsty cheers, crying havoc through the city.

* * *

**Don't think everyone in the crew is going to be happy about this...**


	6. Euro Trip

**I would like to dedicate this chapter to RED BULL. It was so damn hard to get out, you can't even begin to imagine... luckily I was writing big patches of text for _other_ chapters but still, this one... _urgh_. If it wasn't for my favorite caffeinated beverage it might never have gotten here, short though it is.**

* * *

Eddie stood with his arms folded across his chest as he watched Nanette fiddle with the pod. Cyrus had already left to return to Stilwater; a man in his position in the militia couldn't be absent for so long without raising questions, and he'd left the operation entirely in Eddie hands.

"Once he is out of the pod he will begin to come out of stasis almost immediately, he must be anaesthetised quickly," Nanette said carefully. Her assistant worked silently beside her, unwilling to ask any questions about the procedure. All he knew was that he'd been called back by his employer and the pay was good, so long as he kept his mouth shut.

The pod whirred and hummed as the crimson gel began to drain, lower and lower till Gat's body hung limply from the loose shackles on his arms. Hot water blasted in its place and cleansed the last of the gel from the man's skin. Finally, the contraption gave a pneumatic hiss as the front casing began to lift away, exposing him to the chill air. The assistant moved quickly, removing the last of the wires and tubing swiftly from his skin. Eddie frowned and took a short step forward as Nanette tenderly pressed towels over Gat's skin to dry him, quietly humming what sounded like a lullaby as she did.

"Will you hurry up with that?" he grunted impatiently. Nanette threw him a dark look.

"His body temperature will drop quickly enough _without_ him being soaked, let me have him dressed," she said with her lyrical accent, busying herself with a set of grey sweat pants, her assistant helping her to dress the unconscious man. Eddie rolled his eyes and scowled at her – he saw the other's man's eyes flinch as he began to wake up.

"Quickly Nanette!" he said sharply and she dropped the shirt she'd grabbed, hurriedly fussing instead with a syringe.

* * *

The first thing I felt was a pinch on my arm – sharp, a needle sticking into the crook of my elbow, then a cold drug running up in my veins. Then voices…

"This will keep him comatose…?"

"… It should…"

I knew that woman's voice. That's right, I'd been here before, I'd woken up here before… those motherfuckers had me locked up in here… that Loren guy…

I tried opening my eyes before whatever drug they gave me kicks in; _dammit, what were these people going to do to me?_

Suddenly the drug hit me, and believe me, it's _not_ an anaesthetic. My heart was racing and it was like it was about to about to break out of my rib cage; my eyes snapped open and I could see these faces in front of me, like, doctors or some shit. I could feel weak restrains on my wrists – very weak. I don't have time to think. I was strong and awake.

_And I'm getting the fuck outta here._

I wrenched my right arm loose and cracked my fist into the first face in front of me – the nurse or doctor or whoever he is shrieked when he dropped to the ground and the other one scrambled back with this yelp, some older looking woman. I wrenched my other arm free and dove at her when I saw the big guy up the back of the room running at me; he pulled a gun and I grabbed the doctor, turning and putting her between myself and the stranger. My hands gripped around the woman's head till I could feel the tension in her neck – another inch or two and I could snap it-

"Drop it," I threatened sharply but the man was composed. He looked familiar somehow, big white guy, pig eyes.

"She's expendable," he shot back icily at me.

"Then shoot her."

"_Non! Non! Mon fils, s'il vous plaît laissez-moi partir!" _The woman yelped, hands gripping at my arm feebly. Whatever they injected me with it had my heart and head going at a thousand miles an hour, like speed or coke but faster – it was hard to focus on anything for more than a second or so. _Dammit, have to get outta here…_ the standoff was short lived; I gave a grunt and threw the woman at the man with such strength and force it sent them flying back and slamming into a glass supply cabinet, showering them with shards and surgical equipment.

_Fuck. Hadn't been expecting that_. I wasn't about to let myself linger though, and raced out the door and down the hallways. The place was fucked though, a maze of goddamn stone and weird science stuff, beakers and computers and all these glass egg looking things with pink shit in them.

_Where the fuck am I?_

Someone was shouting down the hall after me and heard him chasing, that big motherfucker. Should've finished him off when he was down – I found stairs and started climbing them (flying blind, by the way). That maze just opened into what looked like a castle with newer furniture and it was about then I realised there wasn't much in the way of resistance for me. My head and heart were still racing making it hard to think clearly. I needed a weapon. I needed to find a way out.

… I needed proper clothes.

There's a bang behind me as the beefed-up guy crashed through the door I just came through. He's bleeding from a few cuts but he's still got that gun and it's trained on me. This drug might be fucking with my head but it's making my reflexes like lightning; before he can get a single shot off I ducked behind another wall, my eyes scanning the room as he empties about half a magazine after me. _Aha!_

An ornate short sword was mounted on the wall. Replica or not, I could get a guy dead easily with that. I ripped it down – pretty light and flimsy, I'd have to guess it was a fake; I swung it once to get the feel for the weight as I heard him approaching.

"You got nowhere to go Gat!" he shouted at me and I rolled my eyes.

"I been in tighter _pussies_ than this situation asshole!" I shouted back at him, listening keenly as he got closer. A few more steps, and I spun out from behind the wall.

I drew back my arm when I saw him and threw the sword – heavier and bigger and any knives I'd thrown before but I figured the physics were pretty much the same. The second he saw he was firing shots off again; I don't _know_ how I managed to move so damn quick though, getting myself out of the way till the blade of the sword impacted him – I'd been aiming for his heart but he'd moved, the blade imbedded in the wrong side of his chest. He cried out and dropped to the ground, grunting and swearing at me as his hands gripped the hilt. I grinned, turning on my heel and kept going through the house, not wanting to wait to see if he had backup.

The hallway eventually lead to the entrance foyer, the huge oak doors looked as welcoming as the pearly gates. I had a second to think I was free once I got outside; no such luck. Motherfuckin' _trees_ everywhere. Forrest. And damn mountains, not to mention the building behind me looked way too old to be in America. _That_ had me worried. It was cold as all hell too though that could've been cos I was in nothing but sweats; I looked around at the pebble driveway and saw two cars pared further up, jogging up to them impatiently.

They were both European. One was a sleek black sedan, the other a grey, older model hatchback-

With the driver's door unlocked and keys in the fucking ignition.

You now that part in Alice in Wonderland where she finds the cake that says 'Eat me'? When I saw that as a kid I thought she was with biggest fucking dunce in the world for going for it. Now, looking at the car that may as well have the words 'Drive Me' stamped on it, I really didn't see much of a choice, no matter how _convenient_ it all seemed.

I yanked open the door and dropped into the driver's seat, turning the ignition and glancing about inside before I groaned.

Fucking _stick shift._

* * *

Nanette had hurried after the two men quickly as she could, limping painfully. When Gat had thrown her she'd landed quite awkwardly on her knee and was grunting and groaning whole heartedly at the pain. But as she turned into the entrance foyer and saw Eddie Pryor flat on his back, shaking hands over the hilt of a short sword stuck in his chest, her own pain was forgotten.

"Stop!" she yelped, rushing to him, "Don't take it out!"

As she dropped down by his side she heard the sound of her car starting up outside, the engine screeched, stalled, then started up again before kicking up gravel and screaming away. Eddie groaned angrily, slowly taking his hands from the hilt.

"Be still," she said quickly to Eddie, "We can get this f-_aack!_"

A huge meaty hand shot out and gripped her tightly around her throat, fingers squeezing at her neck, threatening to snap the vertebrae.

"He got away," he grunted with a shaking breath, blood flecking from between his lips, his pig-eyes boring into her, "How… did it happen?"

Nanette clawed at the hand on her throat, terrified.

"I- I cannot think how-" she croaked. Eddie gave her the slightest shake which caused her to gasp, "Monsieur Pryor, please, your injury, I need to help y-"

The fingers flexed again and her vision started to get spotty, but finally she was released. She dropped to the cold stone floor, gasping and clinging at her throat, her head swimming. Eddie glowered at her, breaths haggard and shaking with the weapon impaled in him.

"_Fix_ this. Then you're answering some fucking questions you French _cunt_."

* * *

I'm trying some of those breathing exercises to get my heart to slow down. I don't know if I was injected with adrenaline or what, or more importantly, _why_. Unless it was some mix up with the meds, hell if I know. But still, the injection, then the unlocked doors, then the car with the keys in the ignition. I believe in coincidences, but not that many in a row. It was almost too convenient.

I was hungry too. I felt like I hadn't eaten in months.

''_W__hat I wouldn't give for a Freckles run right now… not that there'd be any fast food joints around...'_ I'd been driving for over an hour now and I'd barely seen any other cars on the road, let alone houses, just thick forest and not a city skyline in sight. This was bad – no cash, no guns and no fucking clue where I am. Ten minutes later and I get the first sight of civilisation; it's a _village_. Not a town or suburb or anything; when I got closer I could see all the buildings were stone and had ivy or huge trees growing around them, and as I drove past the first building I could've sworn I'd gone back in time, if it wasn't for the one or two other cars on the road. Still, buildings were buildings, no matter how old they were. Even if the road signs were all in French… Maybe I was in Canada? Dear God, _please_ let me be in Canada…

Huh. Never thought I'd say that.

I pulled up to the side of the road, taking in the narrow street ahead; one of the old buildings had a shop front, looked like a milkbar or convenience shop, it'd have to do. Maybe they sold jackets or could tell me where I could get some clothes, but at least they looked like they had food.

And if not, they sure as shit would have cash in their till.

The bell above the door chimed loudly when I walked into the cramped place; convenience store, like I thought. Cramped rows of shelves with familiar brand names, all in French, some in some other Euro-language.

"_Bonjour,_" I hear and see the lady sitting up behind the counter. She looked up with a double take from her newspaper, eyeing me with raised eyebrows and I remembered I wasn't wearing anything other than a pair of grey flannel sweats. Then she said something in French, indicating to my torso and I felt a weight drop into my stomach.

"Yo, you speak English?" I asked her quickly and she tilted her head at me, frowning. I looked around the small shop feeling kinda sick; not a lick of English anywhere. Even in French Canada they had _some_ fucking English.

"I speak a very little," she said, "You are…" she glanced me up and down again, "American?"

_Phew_. "Can you tell me where I am?" I asked her quickly and she frowned, tilting her head, making an uncertain _err_. I rolled my eyes and tried slower.

"Where? Where am I?"

She brightened, nodding, "You are een _Brasson_," she said proudly, her hands weaving as she hunted out words, "Eet is… _beautiful_ town-"

"Yeah but where is the fucking _town?_" I shot at her angrily and she blinked at me, clearly offended (like I gave a shit).

"… 'Eere," she said, pulling a map out from the cupboard behind her, spreading it out on the glass counter top before her. I stepped forward to look at the map, which was riddled with foreign words.

"You are '_ere_," she said, pointing to a spot on the map without a lable, "And take zis road, you come to Leige, from zere you follow along 'ere to Brussels."

I stared at the map and felt my jaw drop.

"_Brussels?_"

"Er… yes…" she said, leaning forward worriedly, "Monsieur is something wr-"

"Brussels as in _Belgium?_" I said quickly. _No. No fucking way._

"_Yes_ monsieur, Bel-"

"I'm in FUCKING_ BELGIUM?!"_

* * *

Eddie Pryor was glaring daggers at the woman from his bed as she nervously stood by, her hands clasped together. It still hurt to breathe, despite his being patched up; whatever injury he'd sustained he knew he'd have to have properly operated on as soon as he got the fuck back to America.

"Do you have _any_ idea what you've done?" he seethed at the woman who tried not to flinch.

"It was an acci-"

"HOW?" He bellowed then winced at the pain in his chest, a hand clamping over the bandages. Nanette didn't move from her spot when she saw her patient's discomfort, terrified of him grabbing her by the throat again. He grunted and continued,

"You injected him with what was supposed to be a god damn anaesthetic, _how_ did he wake up?"

Nannette twisted her fingers, then lifted her chin to try and hide her uncertainty.

"I believe, perhaps, Michael drew up the wrong medication, or the compound used interacted wi-"

She was cut off by her own shriek as the bedside table lamp went crashing by her head and shattered onto the wall behind her.

"You would be dead five times over if I-" Eddie winced again at the pain, gritting his teeth and wished the brilliant scientist was expendable. There were gaping holes in her explanation, and despite no longer trusting her, he new he couldn't get rid of her, not yet anyway. Eddie seethed a little more, then fixed Nannette with a dark glare.

"Now you listen to me," he said darkly, "If Temple calls, the operation went ahead. It was successful, and we're just waiting for Gat to wake up, make up some medical shit to make everything seem like a long process. As far as Temple's concerned, everything is going _according to plan_."

Nannette nodded solemnly, and not for the first time doubted herself for trying the man; he was not known for being magnanimous. Eddie took a moment to consider his options; he had to track Gat down, and he had to recover from this injury soon. Maybe a day or two in one of those pods could help him recover faster…

As for Gat, well, the man had been unconscious for four months. He was alone, unarmed, no money, in a foreign country. He doubted he could be recognised easily especially since the world thought he was dead. And obviously the first thing Gat would do would be to try and contact his gang. The moment he attempted to, he could get a pinpoint on him, if he could get the skills of a certain hacker back.

"Miller," he mused aloud to himself; Nannette stayed quiet as the man pondered. Once Matt Miller had the location, he'd need someone efficient to jump Gat, someone capable of killing him.

Someone who'd leap at the chance with next to no pushing, someone who would do whatever it took to take him down, and most importantly, someone who he knew couldn't be bought off.

"Aiko," he murmured to himself with a dark smile. He looked up to Nannette, "Bring me a phone and laptop. I need to make some calls."

He glared at the woman's back as she left; he hated having to work so close with someone he mistrusted so much. Even calling in Miller was a gamble; the kid was easily spooked since his run in with the Saints, so it would take a lot of coercing to get him back. But _Aiko_… Eddie smiled darkly to himself. He'd look forward to working with Aiko.

After all, If there was one motive he could trust it was revenge.

* * *

**Sorry again about the length of the chapter, especially after the wait.**


	7. Ruthless

**Holy cow! Thank you so much for all the reviews last chapter, I think it broke a personal record! I guess you all must have inspired me cos I sat down and wrote most of this in a single day. Also, strangely inspired to write from Angel's POV for the second part of the chapter, not sure where it came from.**

* * *

Pierce and Shaundi had resigned themselves to the fact that just maybe, the Boss had come a little unhinged.

The night the Boss blew the Loren Square Planet Saints to shit, the Saints went on an all night rampage through their city, raiding and vandalising every Planet Saints they could find, shooting out the LEDs and neons on any sign depicting the gang insignia and painting graffiti over the Saints Flow billboards. For one hellish night, the city descended into anarchy; any stragglers of the former gangs went into hiding to avoid being slaughtered, many agreeing that maybe it was time to just flee the city.

When the sun rose and the smoke cleared, the inhabitants of Steelport emerged form their homes, shaken and confused. The media speculated as to the cause; mutiny? A new rival gang arrived to take apart the global superstar gang? It would be days before the city could really understand what was happening.

The ramifications for the Ultor Media group were disastrous.

* * *

The HQ was pleasantly deserted; most of the Saints had a huge post-riot party at Safeword and as far as I could tell it was still going. I wasn't in the mood for that, feeling a little unwell from the come-down and really just needing some peace and quiet after the brilliant Wild Rumpus that was last night. I'd been relatively down just before it had started, but at least now colours had stopped popping at me. I watched the morning news report that was covering the anarchy of the night before and smirking. Shaundi was sitting on the sofa in front of me, Pierce stood next to me, frowning worriedly. He was angry with me, I could tell.

"…Boss, this… breaking away stuff. Are you doing it because of Gat?" Shaundi asked. I shifted my weight, pausing before answering her.

"I'm doing it for the Saints."

"You know what I mean," she said, twisting in her seat to pierce me with her hazel eyes, "One of the last things Gat said to us, when we were in that jail cell was that we traded in our dicks for pussies. Well, in the most metaphorical way possible," she said, indicating back and forth between us and I had to smile a little.

"Well he was right, wasn't he?" I pressed, "For me at least. I hadn't realised how out of touch I was."

"Boss, this really don't seem like a good idea," Pierce pressed for the hundredth time, "The Company's our cash cow-"

"_Was_," I corrected instantly, "Besides, money is easy to get and we've got more than enough already. _Dignity_ is something else Mr. _Soopa Awesome_" I added dryly. His Japanese ads had been some of the most embarrassing things I'd ever seen. And my gang symbol was stuck to it.

"Look Boss, I happen to _like_ the life I got," he said, and I could tell where he was going with this. I gave him a level look.

"Pierce, I'm not going to stop you making your shitty music record or fucking your fangirls. But what's happening here is bigger than you," I said, indicating to the TV which was showing a smouldering mess that was once a Planet Saints, "The _Saints_ are more than your celebrity life. And that's something you gotta understand if you're gonna keep calling yourself one."

The last few words stabbed at him, I could tell. He frowned at me, jaw set.

"Boss, you know I'm a Saint first," he said and I nodded, "And Saints are family. So, _sister_, if you wouldn't mind at least giving me a heads up next time you decide to start tearing down everything we built and throwing Saints Flow vending machines off bridges onto the highway, I'd really 'preciate it."

A small smile curled at my mouth.

"I was having a bad day."

"No shit."

We smiled at each other, understanding finally reached. Pierce gave a short chuckle,

"Y'know, Oleg's convinced you're a batshit balls-to-the-wall lunatic for trashing the Empire."

"Can't imagine why," I said sarcastically, then added after a moment, "That man is a little too pragmatic even for _me_."

"Hope he starts fucking Kinzie soon," Shaundi voiced and it drew a heartless chuckle from me, "Might give him a bit of perspective."

"Gotta wonder how that'd work. He's three times her size," I commented lightly and Pierce shrugged.

"Maybe that's why he's holding back?" he offered and I smirked.

"She's got a penetrator. I don't think she's gonna have any trouble with him."

"Yo, I don't need those images in my head," Pierce whined.

"…We need to get them on their own. Nice romantic setting," Shaundi decided and I decided I agreed.

"Yeah. Send them out for a date at the… park or the beach or something." Messing with people's love lives was never my thing, but watching these two had gone from amusing, to interesting, to just a little bit pathetic. Oleg had confessed to us his deep admiration for the tiny little hacker but somehow had been totally incapable of telling _her_. Pierce suddenly began chuckling at me.

"You really are crazy. You gone from the Joker and Che Guevara's love child to matchmaker in about two seconds."

I only smirked, still watching the TV thoughtfully as the elevator doors far behind us dinged open. I glanced lazily over my shoulder, seeing a somewhat familiar man come bursting out. Portly, balding, wearing a fine grey suit…

"Mr. Radcliffe," I greeted with cold sarcasm as he stormed out of the elevator and down the stairs, "Please, won't you come in?"

"WHAT are you thinking?" he shouted at me. I remained still and impassive, only raising an eyebrow at the man. Nathan Radcliffe was one of the senior directors on the Board for the Saints/Ultor media group, Steelport branch. I'm guessing he drew the short straw in coming to speak to me about this, since I'd been ignoring all their calls.

"I'm thinking it's strange there's a fat balding douchebag screaming at me in my own home," I said and Pierce chuckled, leaning on the back of the sofa to watch us with amusement.

"Why are you doing this?" he pressed and I was a little surprised to find him mad enough that he was unafraid, "Is this supposed to be some sort of publicity stunt? Do you have _any_ idea the damage you've caused?"

"Yes," I said icily, tilting my head, "I'm perfectly aware. I'm surprised you and the Board haven't figured it out already. The Saints are dumping you."

"Are you _insane?_ You can't just break away from the company! Think about what'll happen to the stock value-"

"Oh that's not an issue for us; we already bailed out of that," Shaundi piped up with a smarmy look, "Expect a surprise when Wall Street opens this morning."

Nathan's jaw dropped. He was glaring at me and I sighed with boredom, drawing pack of smokes out of my pocket and turning wordlessly to head outside. Of course he followed, Pierce and Shaundi slowly stalking after him.

"You seem to be forgetting, the Saints/Ultor media group _owns_ the brand," Nathan Radcliffe shot to the back of my head as I lit up a cigarette, "We own the copyrights to the name, the logo, hell we own the copyrights to _you_. Gat, Pierce, Shaundi, we even copyrighted the exact shade of _purple-_"

I elegantly drew a little smoke into my lungs, speaking it out, "I hear Cadbury did the same thing."

"Is this a _jok_e to you?" he shouted, throwing his hands up above his sweaty, balding head, "Think about how far you've come! Think about your _friends'_ careers! Know this now, you might _think_ you own the Saints but you're dead wrong. We own the brand, and this company isn't going to give up everything it's built with the Saints just because you're having an existential crisis- _OOPH!_"

He buckled over as my shin made a heavy, sharp impact up under his ribs, paralysing his diaphragm. He huffed and gasped as he tried to breathe, and I grabbed him by the back of his white collar with one hand, drawing another breath of my smoke with the other.

"Shaundi, could you grab your phone? I want to send a video message to the Board," I said and Shaundi raised her eyebrows, pulling her sleek black iPhone out of her jacket pocket and followed me as I dragged the wheezing man around the edge of the pool to the helipad. He coughed and tried to speak, so I pounded him once in the kidney for good measure, the pain causing his body to go rigid.

As we reached the edge of the helipad I turned him to face away from me, still holding him by the collar and began leaning his half-paralysed body over the edge. He gasped and began to cry in fear as he stared out over the precipice.

"You getting my good side?" I joked as Shaundi held up her phone, a dark smile about her lips.

"We're rolling Boss," she said and I looked to the camera, ignoring the man's pleas as he waved his arms.

"Attention _assholes_," I started, "I'm sure you're all familiar with this gentleman, he's one of the senior members on the Ultor board of directors. Say 'hi' to your workmates Nathan," I said with a cruel smile to the man, who was trying to cry out for help as he gasped for breath, his lungs only now beginning to work again.

"_Nathan_ here hasn't been a very good house guest. He thought it would be a good idea to storm into _my_ home and start telling me what to do with _my_ gang. He informed me that your company is unwilling to let go of the Saints brand name," I took another drag of my cigarette casually with my free hand, "Then he threw around a few legal terms and mentioned contracts and such… because of course, a criminal organisation is going to give a shit about that kind of stuff."

I smirked at my own joke and I even saw Shaundi's shoulders shrug with a silent laugh.

"So here's what's going to happen. _You_ are going to give up, white flags and all. Go back to making sunglasses and over priced T Shirts and stay the _fuck _out of the Saints way. That's not to say this separation needs to be uncivil. Just let go."

With that, I released the grip I had on Nathan's shirt collar and he managed a horrified scream as his body toppled forward off the helipad, gravity reaching out to grip him and pulled him sharply down to the earth. He howled the whole way down till he was suddenly silenced, the soft echoes of pedestrian's screams drifting up to us. I stared deadpan at the phone.

"It's surprisingly easy to do."

Shaundi clicked the phone off, then twirled a hand through the air.

"And that's a wrap," she said, getting busy with sending the video out to everyone on the board. I dusted my hands off, leaning forward a little over the edge to see the tiny figure on the pavement far below, a swarm of people surrounding him now. Pierce and Shaundi stepped up either side of me.

"You know for someone who's tryin' to get outta the celebrity business, you sure got a flare for theatrics," Pierce teased and I raised an eyebrow at him.

"What can I say? I'm an artist," I said, flicking the cigarette butt off the edge.

"Yeah, well… you want me to call up some people to clean up your latest installation?" he asked and I nodded amusedly. He turned and began striding off over the helipad; Shaundi stayed next to me, glaring down at the pavement.

"What about you?" I asked and she blinked at me. I noticed there was now a permanent crease between her eyebrows, the faintest wrinkle etched into her face from scowling so often.

"What about me? I'm not cleaning that shit up."

I shook my head, stepping back to move slowly over the helipad with her, "No. I'm talking about ditching Ultor."

Shaundi raised her eyebrows delicately, "You've done one Playboy shoot you've done them all. As for the show… I can live without it. Really, I'm kinda glad you did what you did. Johnny would've been proud."

I nodded, trying to quell the sudden painful twist inside me when I heard his name. But then Shaundi paused, stopping halfway across the helipad and glaring down at the concrete.

"I'm not happy Boss."

I blinked over my shoulder at her, turning to face her, "Well, it's a lot to build and then destroy-"

"No, I mean, I don't know if I've ever been," she said with a sigh, glaring at the city. When I didn't respond, she continued, "All those drugs and fucking around, I guess I was trying to use that to compensate for something. Then I gave it up and thought the fame and fortune was better but really, it's no different. I got to thinking about what you said last night…"

I stepped up to her, resisting the urge to fold my arms over my chest, "You've been seeing a therapist, haven't you?"

"That obvious?" she asked and gave me a slight smile, "I can let it go. Time I did some soul searching anyway."

With that, we turned and started walking back up to the hideout again. I shook my head.

"…We're a bit young to have a mid-life crisis, aren't we?"

"We've done a lot of living Boss," she replied sagely. We were silent till we stepped inside again and I nudged her.

"… Hey, Angel and I are gonna go catch some Luchadors and see what we can get out of them this afternoon," I mentioned and she smirked at me, tilting her head, "You wanna come?"

Shaundi shook her head briefly.

"Aren't you _tired?_" she asked, "It was a pretty big one last night."

I shrugged, "I was gonna take a nap before hand."

Shaundi allowed herself a short chuckle and shook her head, punching me gently on the arm.

"I think I'll pass this one. Just make sure you take care of yourself."

"Always do."

* * *

I gripped the kid by the back of the neck, walking him forward into the gym; I'd roughed him up pretty well and he wasn't fighting me much, mostly just a whimper now and then.

"Angel, c'mon man, I don't know _anything-_" he begged. I glared at him as I dragged him through the front doors.

"You realise all the false leads you've been trying to tell me are ones _I_ taught you?" I growled at the Luchador. Sabre, he called himself, and managed to get enough of the old crew to go along with it to avoid getting pegged with a street name he hated. Sabre was one of the first ones who turned on me when Killbane unmasked me; so much for loyalty. I'd met some twofaced people in my time, but Sabre was a special breed and with enough pressure, I know I could get him singing like a bird.

_She_ was already waiting inside, standing in the middle of the work mat, slouched on a hip. To the far side of the mat was that tiger, lying down by one of the ruined poker machines and licking its paws. The woman was dragging back on a cigarette, smoking more and more lately which I couldn't understand. Your body was your weapon; she shouldn't abuse hers like she did.

I never much liked calling her 'Boss'. For one thing she was nearly ten years younger than me. Though if there's something she proved it's that age was irrelevant. For years I'd heard the ghost stories about things she'd done back in Stilwater, back when I ran the Luchadors along with Killbane. It had been part of my disappointment in actually meeting her since the over-indulgent celebrity life had clearly softened someone who was born to be a warrior. Her body had that tender, hour-glass shape, though now as my eyes traced the line of her neck and waist, I could see more brawn and tone returning to her.

She looked over her shoulder at us now, coldly, flicking the cigarette butt down and stubbing it out under her toe. She nodded a greeting as I dragged Sabre up onto the mat and forced him to his knees in front of her; he fell silent under her icy gaze. There was a pause before she tilted her head at him.

"You have two choices here," she began, "You can make this easy for yourself. Or fun for _me_."

Sabre sniffed, swallowing back a little blood, "I don't know nothin'," He said and she glanced at me.

"I love double negatives," she said, then drew back her leg, pivoting her hips sharply and kicking him in the face. He cried out at the impact, spitting out two teeth and a lot of blood onto the mat, crimson and stark against the other faded, half-cleaned bloodstains. The Saint wasn't about to toy with her prey this evening; she began pulling his shirt off right away, along with the mask over his eyes and bracers on his wrists. He was groggy from the blow to the head but clearly confused at being undressed, particularly when she undid the button to his jeans and yanked them clear off till he was sitting cold, bloodied and naked in front of her.

I was just as confused the first time she'd done this too, but I knew the routine now. She looked over her shoulder to the edge of the mat and gave a short whistle.

"Trouble! C'mere!"

There was a low rumble and the clattering of a chain as the huge tiger sprung up to its feet, coming instantly to his mistress' call. I had to admire her control of the animal; I'd sent it to teach her to conquer her fear but she'd done so much more. She'd embraced it, controlled it. Under my grip I felt Sabre start struggling again as he shook himself out of his stunned state.

"What the...? Oh God! No!" he yelped as the tiger padded closer, it's nose crinkling and fangs bared as it picked up the scent of blood in the air. She must have fasted it for a few days, because it had that hungry, predatory look. It was snarling now, licking its maw and growling at the bloodied man. His mistress moved to stand next to me, behind Sabre and hoisted him to his feet, slowly edging him closer to her pet.

"Someone has been calling the shots in Killbane's place. All I want is a name and a place," The Boss sighed with boredom into Sabre's ear. He was shaking as he looked at the animal.

"I, I _can't-_"

"I think you can," she growled, and we edged him a little closer, "Trouble! Heel!"

The tiger suddenly raced forward against its chain and sunk its teeth sharply into the man's ankle, the bone audibly snapping between his powerful jaws. Sabre screamed out, struggling vainly against the powerful animal and our hold on him.

"Stop! PLEASE! STOP!" he howled.

"Only you can make this stop," she replied quietly.

He let out another terrified cry and began shaking, "I- I _swear-_"

"Uh huh. Now you see, usually when a tiger takes down a meal he'll go for the neck first – of course, Trouble is a special case. Want me to show you what else I taught him to bite off?"

Sabre let out another terrified shriek, "Espinosa!" he cried suddenly, "Juan Espinosa, I hear he hangs out at the docks by Three Count! Please! Please just make it let go!"

She tilted her head and looked to me. Juan…

"I remembered that kid. He'd wanted to be a pro wrestler, idolised Killbane and even myself at one point. It wouldn't be too hard for Killbane to keep a hold over him," I told her and she nodded.

"Thanks buddy," she said, mercifully snapping Sabre's neck before thrusting the body forward to the tiger. 'Trouble' instantly sunk his teeth into the man's twisted neck, powerful jaws ripping at the man's flesh and feasting on him. I'd never actually seen her feed someone to the cat _alive_, but I believe she was saving that sentence for someone else.

She got onto her phone instantly then;

"Kinz, I need you to do a quick trace for me," she said and I crossed my arms, "Juan Espinosa, he should be hanging around the docks by Three Count but I need a pinpoint on him."

There was a brief pause as Kinzie replied, and she gave a short nod.

"Thanks."

With that she hung up, levelling me with a cool gaze, "She'll send us co-ordinates as soon as she gets a fix on his cell," she said and I felt myself glare.

"You rely on her too much," I said flatly, "You'll loose your hunters' instinct."

She raised an eyebrow and stuck her hands on her shapely hips.

"_Hunters' instinct_ now is it?" she asked dryly, thoughtlessly flicking a lock of hair from her face which habitually fell back between her brilliant blue eyes.

"You know what I mean. Be careful making things too easy for yourself, you might lose your touch."

"Thanks _dad,_" she shot back as she turned to step off the mat, "But I'm being pragmatic. Using Kinzie is the fastest way to get results."

"You got soft once," I warned her and she froze, slowly looking over her shoulder to glare at me.

"Careful Angel," she said lowly, "Trouble's got an appetite today."

I felt the slightest smirk over my mouth at her idle threat. As if to make a point, there was an audible _crack_ as the tiger broke a rib, followed by a sticky squelch and soft growl as he began feasting on Sabre's liver.

"I'm not afraid of that cat," I said, turning to one of the training dummies, lightly punching it a few times. My technique with my left hook had been out recently. I heard her muted footsteps over the mat.

"Since there's time to kill, you could try hitting something that hits back," she challenged. I could have laughed at her -hint at her going soft and the first thing she has to do is beat something up to prove otherwise. I glanced over my shoulder at her; she'd dropped her jacket from her shoulders and was bending over to pull her boots off. To avoid staring I took a quick step up and shoved her over – she gave a small surprised yelp as she dropped onto the mat, glaring up at me.

"If you're going to wear those things, you need to be able to fight in them," I chided and she raised an eyebrow.

"Your funeral," she said lightly, springing back up and launching her first attack. I'll admit, I liked her as a sparring partner; she was creative, skilled and ruthless.

Few women ever offered a challenge like she did.

* * *

**Ahh. This was fun to write.**


	8. The Hunt Begins

**Again, I can't than you all enough for the encouraging feedback. This is yet _another_ chapter that hops around perspectives, I don't know why I'm so fickle with it. Hopefully you lot don't mind though?**

* * *

"Those pods of yours really do work wonders," Eddie commented easily as he stretched his shoulders out; the stab wound in his chest still ached and was tender, but was healing twice as fast as he would have expected. Nanette didn't respond, scowling instead into her coffee and wincing when she did, the swollen, purplish bruises still mottling her face and neck. She was grateful at least Eddie had put Gat's escape down to ineptitude rather than deceit; at least then she could keep her life. And who knows, perhaps she would see Subject Two again? She smiled proudly at the thought of him.

"… Has your associate managed to track him yet?" she asked curiously and Eddie frowned.

"He'll be in contact when he does."

Matt had clearly been uncertain about joining forces with Eddie a second time; his encounter with the Saints Leader in the virtual world had spooked him enough he'd left America, but removed from violence and safely behind his console his confidence was again growing. When the plan had been explained to him, his curiosity had piqued further and he decided that so long as he wasn't engaging the Saints leader directly, it couldn't hurt to have a hand in her downfall. After all, all he had to do was track down Johnny Gat (who he was unsurprised to hear was still alive) and pass the information on. Hardly a dangerous move.

Eddie smirked at the memory, glad to know the young Briton was as malleable as ever.

Pouring himself a drink from the small bar set up in the corner of the cavernous drawing room of the castle, he turned to make his way to the large fireplace, but then abruptly stopped, narrowing his eyes. Eddie blinked through the dim light, the tiny figure that only moments ago had not been there, cast in shadow in the large arm chair. The only indication of her presence was the sheathed katana leaning against the armrest of the chair, and her slender, crossed legs exposed to the firelight. Eddie paused, then chuckled to himself. She'd managed to sneak in here totally undetected in a matter of seconds? Little show-off.

"Aiko," he greeted warmly. The small female uncrossed her legs, slowly standing to greet him and revealing herself in the firelight. She was a young and pretty thing; her dark brown hair tied loosely over her shoulders in pigtails bound in yellow ribbon, she wore a navy schoolgirl sailor outfit, trimmed in yellow. Her legs were cased with knee-high white socks, her feet clad in perfectly shone black leather Mary-Janes. Eddie understood the outfit; being petite as she was she could easily have passed for a fifteen year old girl, deceptively cute and approachable.

A fine disguise for such a deadly woman.

"Mister Killbane," she greeted, her English fluent but her accent fumbling ever so slightly over her L's. Eddie reached out to shake her hand in his but she held back, "Thank you for your invitation," she said, casting her gaze from him to the roaring fire, then up around the theatrical, medieval room, "…Nice place you've got."

Eddie chuckled, "It's just the summer house. Can I get you anything, a drink?"

"I don't drink," she replied flatly, "And I'd much rather… _get down to business_," she said, toying with the colloquialism.

"By all means," Eddie waved a hand to concede, taking his seat by the fire. Aiko remained standing. After a moment, she began speaking.

"I never thought I would be glad to hear that Johnny Gat is alive and breathing," she said quietly, looking to the fireplace, "But now he's mine to kill…"

"I warned you Aiko, that were conditions," Eddie said darkly and she shot him a cold look.

"There are no _conditions_ where vengeance is concerned," she seethed and Eddie shook his head.

"I don't doubt that. But if you want to find Gat, if you want the information I have, you need to follow the conditions," he said sternly to the young woman, "For now, we need him alive. Disable him; _cripple_ him for all I care, but bring him back _breathing_."

Aiko scrunched her nose, her cherubic features only _just_ managing to look threatening, and Eddie wisely continued, "It's the easiest way to make sure we can lure out the Saints Leader. Keep Gat alive breathing _for now,_" he stressed, "And I can guarantee you we will also get the woman who killed your father."

* * *

_Ode to Aiko Akuji_

Kazuo Akuji wasn't the warmest of fathers; Aiko recalled him once patting her on the head and saying she was a good child and as far as she could remember it was the only time he'd touched her. Aiko's mother had always spoken highly (if coldly) of him though and Aiko, being a 'good child' took her word for it. And never, _ever_ asked about what her father did for a living.

The coldness of the home was placated somewhat by her older brother Shogo. He was a cocky and self-centred boy, forever pulling pigtails and teasing his baby sister, but was always there to play Power Rangers, or hold her hand when _toh-san_ and _ka-san_ were fighting. And since the girl was home schooled for most of her life, forever surrounded by the _hogo_ her father hired to guard his wife and daughter, she never really had friends. For a long time, Shogo and Aiko were all each other had.

She was nine when she first met Jyunichi – and was utterly terrified of him. Though he was only twenty he had a steely look about him and towered over almost everyone else in the gang, not to mention she was forever hearing stories about his fighting prowess and skill with a sword. Where Shogo, sixteen at the time, had never shown interest in his Japanese traditions Jyunichi was loyal to them and it was that which caught her father's attention of the young man. He rose quickly through the ranks and she saw more and more of him throughout her youth; he was even charged with training her and her brother in Kendo.

Shogo's only interest in Kendo was the opportunity to whack his sister over the head with a bamboo sword. Aiko however had seen how much her father esteemed Jyunichi and in turn, found herself eager for his approval. Also, she wanted to be good enough in the sport to beat her brother's ass which she was quickly capable of doing, despite her tiny stature.

The years eased by happily for the girl; like the daughters of most mob bosses, it could be a lonely life but she never wanted for anything. It wasn't till Shogo's twenty first birthday they got the news; her father's 'business' was expanding to the American city of Stilwater. And her brother would be running the operations there, with Jyunichi as his personal guard and enforcer.

The memory was one of the clearest in her mind. Being fourteen, standing on the tarmac and trying to hold back tears as her brother and Jyunichi left; being unable to run and give them the tender goodbyes she wanted to because of her father's scrutinising gaze. The two young men had bowed deeply to their family, barely exchanging words as they took the steps onto the plane.

It would be two years before she saw her brother again.

They called and emailed religiously; she began to realise the longer her brother was away from their father, the more he came into his own. Conceited and arrogant, she thought, but it made her happy to hear him enjoying himself. Jyunichi never spoke to her but Shogo always assured her he 'sent his warmest regards and hoped she was well'.

As a sixteenth birthday present to herself, she flew to Stilwater for the first time to see Shogo. It was a happy reunion, she was welcomed with a warm embrace that probably would have embarrassed their father as such a display of emotions, particularly when Shogo scruffed his knuckles hard onto her head. Jyunichi had observed disapprovingly but said nothing, only greeting her with a deep bow.

Of course the Ronin men avoided her like the plague; anyone caught so much as leering at her ran the risk of having Jyunichi sever their spine. While Shogo fell quickly into the old routine of playfully tormenting her as if she were still eight years old, Jyunichi had become painfully aware of how much she'd matured. She, conversely, found him no longer intimidating and was even amused by his constant restraint. He dutifully guarded Kazuo Akuji's only daughter and tended to her every whim, all the while doing his best not to speak to the blossoming young woman, unwilling to torment himself with any form of intimacy with her.

She wasn't unaware.

As wily adolescent girls are wont to do, she began wearing her skirts a little shorter, her tops a little lower. Shogo was forever chastising her and throwing his heavy leather jacket over her shoulders, but she was still an Akuji and was unshakably hard headed.

The day of her departure was one of sweet sorrow; privately the siblings' goodbyes had been tear-filled but on the air strip, Shogo had simply punched his sister on the arm and warned her to stay out of trouble. The handful of Ronin guards had bowed deeply to her, including Jyunichi as he stood next to her brother. She'd smirked at this however, hands on her hips as she approached him.

"_Ni-san_, there's no need to be so formal," she'd chided, looping arms around his neck in a tight hug and pressing a kiss to his cheek. The closest the two had ever come to such and intimate touch had been only in sparring, and though his expression was impassive she could feel the heat on his cheek under her plump lips and a hand on the small of her back.

With that she'd turned, throwing a sly smile over her shoulder at her brother, and her brother's keeper. Shogo smiled broadly and gave his sister a lazy wave as a final goodbye. Jyunichi stood dutifully at attention, though as she began climbing the steps onto the jet, she heard him call out to her.

"Take care, _Aiko-chan_."

Aiko left Stilwater feeling very pleased with herself if saddened to go. As much as she knew she'd miss her _baka_ big brother, her thoughts lingered with Jyunichi. Surely her father wouldn't disapprove; he had the highest opinion of the Ronin enforcer. She smiled to herself; in two years she'd be eighteen and surely she could convince Jyunichi to look past the schoolgirl and see the woman. The teasing sixteen year old spent the rest of her flight entertaining herself with thoughts of their next meeting…

That summer, the leader of the Third Street Saints awoke.

After the death of Kazuo Akuji and his son, the Yakuza all but tore itself apart to appoint a new leader. Akuji's wife and daughter were all that was left of the bloodline but they were also left destitute; the former underworld royalty now found themselves thrown on the mercy of the other Yakuza Bosses.

Boss Hiroto took Akuji's wife as his mistress, the miserable woman willing to do whatever she could to keep her daughter safe and provided for. Sadly for her, tying herself to the cruel Oyabun was not the best way to have done this. Aiko despised the man for what he did to her mother; day after day she witnessed the humiliation he put her through, though it was one particular night when the man began his advances on _her_, that Aiko snapped.

Only seventeen at the time, Aiko remorselessly murdered him, shooting him with his own gun before beheading him with the sword her father had left her, no longer afraid of sending a message to the Yakuza. Kazuo Akuji may be dead, but his bloodline would flourish with her.

Boss Sagara took over operations after that; he knew Kazuo Akuji and could see much of him in Aiko, so impressed by her capacity for cruelty he made the girl one of his lead enforcers and assassins. Now, barley twenty years old, she was considered one of the deadliest people in Asia, running a small gang of thugs she dutifully named the Ronin, and supported by her own small crew of deadly assassins, the _Kunoichi_.

It was her duty and loyalty to Sagara that stopped her hunting the Saints; Boss Sagara was unwilling to engage such a powerful enemy and had forbidden her to antagonise them, lest the psychotic Saints Leader be given an incentive to expand her empire into Japan.

So Aiko waited. Waited for a sign, a chance, a reason. Years later, she got the call from Eddie Pryor, and she could wait no more. She severed her ties with the Yakuza and took her Kunoichi with her to Europe. And now she stood in the drawing room of a castle in Belgium, silently waiting for her prey to make himself known.

Eddie had attempted a little talk with Aiko, but he could tell the young woman was tired from her long journey, if unwilling to admit it. Her mind was entirely singular and focused on her one objective. He'd seen the same look on Angel De LaMuerte's face a thousand times since he unmasked him and quickly resigned to the fact Aiko's interest wouldn't be roused unless the topic was Johnny Gat, the Saints Leader, or killing Johnny Gat and the Saints Leader.

The trouble was by now Gat had one day's head start, and they could only hope he hadn't gotten far.

* * *

Just when you think things couldn't get any worse…

I rubbed my eyes and blinked again at the computer screen. It wasn't just because I was tired from driving; though I could see all right without my glasses it still gave me a headache not to wear them. I was tired with trying to figure out what the hell I was supposed to do with myself.

Brussels is a hell of a city; again, I've never really left America, so looking around at this place was really something else. You hear people go _on_ and _on_ about the architecture in Europe and for the first time, I was kinda getting what they were all on about. It's ornate as fuck. But Brussels is a weird city, half French and half… Flemish? Flemish. Christ, _pick a language_ and stick to it. But the split-personality syndrome of the city doesn't stop there. I was wandering down a few blocks and just as the city had me convinced it was a hub of _Eurocrat_ culture I wandered into what turned out to be the African quarter and had someone trying to sell me deep fried caterpillars.

Though once I hit Brussels I didn't waste much time sight seeing. I spent the greater part of the day ditching my car, stealing money, getting clothes, getting a feed and finding a relatively safe place to sleep for all of half an hour, which all takes twice as long when you need to find people who speak English well enough to understand you.

You know what else fucking sucks about Brussels? No Friendly Fire. Though baseball bats and knives had their charm I felt damn naked without a gun and didn't have any contacts here who could hook me up. I had to get onto the gang and get home, but when I finally got around to trying to reach them, I got a pretty nasty fuckin' surprise.

I was using the net in a backpackers' hostel in Brussels – it was a flea-ridden place but the guy who ran it spoke some broken English and didn't seem the kind to ask questions. A good thing for someone in my situation.

I read through the news reports; it was hard enough to find out that I'd been unconscious for four months, but finding out what had happened in the meantime… shit, it was a lot to take in.

_JOHNNY GAT DECLARED DEAD._

Jesus fucking Christ. You got no idea how creepy it is to see pictures of your own funeral.

"_The wreckage of the aircraft has yet to be recovered, however it has been confirmed national celebrity and Saints second in command Johnny Gat was on board, and not counted among the survivors."_

I glared at the pictures and zoomed in on them – I could see the Boss in one. And she had that _look_. I'd seen it before, that alien, hollow look. I felt sick seeing her like that and knowing it was because of me. Of course I'd considered calling them but then, I didn't know their cell numbers. Boss was speed dial one, Pierce was two, Shaundi was three… no one used landlines, it's a crime thing.

I left everything I owned to the Boss (too lazy to get specific with stuff), so I couldn't get to any cash. I'd tried everything to get their attention, trust me. But email addresses were blocked, web pages closed down… not hard to find out why. Barely a week after I 'died' and con artists and imposters had started moving in trying to cash in on the fact my body was never found. Fuckin' assholes, no wonder that shit got locked down so fast.

I pinched the bridge of my nose and kept scrolling through the news headlines based around the Saints. I couldn't help but start grinning after a while; she'd killed Loren, for one thing. Then straight up _invaded_ Steelport. Every day after that there was something in the news about the gangs tearing into each other, the Saints blowing up buildings…

And _STAG_. God damn, when I first read about them I was actually worried for her; these guys looked like the Ultor Masako on steroids, for fucks sake they had a god damn battle ship and fighter jets. Heh, a battle ship _that she blew up_. It was good to know she was holding her own, not that I doubted it. Still, a man can't help feel a little guilty; I should have been there for her.

But _pro wrestling?_ I laughed out loud at that, a few backpackers shooting me odd looks. Still, there she was, in skin tight purple latex (_nice_), taking a chainsaw to a bunch of 'Luchadors'.

_KILLBANE UNMASKED_ was the headline, showing her holding up a mask high above her head, her defeated opponent beneath her. I blinked when I saw the picture; _it was that guy_. The one back in Frankenstein's fucking castle! Well… that explains a lot, but of course raised a lot of questions in its place.

_Don't worry about it_, I thought, _you'll get this cleared up when you get home._

Speaking of home… the Saints were based in Steelport now and I'd never been to the damn place. I wracked my brain for ages trying to think of ways to get in contact with them. There was supposed to be a Planet Saints in France, another one in London. But despite being in Europe and those cities practically being suburbs of each other, what was I supposed to do once I got there? Say to some French girl "Yo, I'm Johnny Gat, gimme some free stuff and call the Leader of the Saints for me?"

I ran a hand over the stubble of my hair (_finally_ got it looking alright and then they go and shave it all off, dick-faces…). I probably wasn't even that recognisable anymore either. Aside from the tattoos, maybe. But minus the trademark glasses and plus the fucking scar that ran out from the corner of my mouth…

I cringed thinking about it. It's fucking _hideous_. Call me vain but c'mon, you get voted in as one of the _Top Ten Sexiest Men on the Planet_ by about five different women's magazines for two years in a row, you're gonna be conscious about your looks. The scar pulled half my mouth into a permanent Joker-grimace now and I couldn't help but wonder what the Boss would think or say…

"_Get the fuck over it pretty-boy."_

I felt myself smile, lopsided with the unscarred side of my face. Hadn't spoken to her for over a day (technically four months, I reminded myself) but I already missed her. I shook my head, forcing myself to focus.

"Alright… who do you know in Europe?" I muttered to myself, closing my eyes. _Sweet fuck no-one, that's who._ Most of my international connections were in South America, China or Korea. The Boss?

My eyes snapped open. She had a connection here. The only one I knew the location on anyway, and that was _if_ he hadn't moved in the past four months. The man jumped around Eastern Europe all the time, in two years he'd gone from Moscow to Prague to Vilnius (wherever the fuck that was). Last I heard he'd mercifully landed himself in Amsterdam and ran some dive in the Red Light district. Knowing my luck he could have fucked off to Norway or Ukraine by now, but it was the only lead I had. And it was only one border to cross, though getting around Europe isn't exactly a mission. Getting _out_ of Europe though…

Jesus, would America even let me back in? Not like I could just go to the Embassy. Hah, that'd be a laugh. Looked like this guy in Amsterdam was my best chance for now. Who knows, maybe he could still contact her? It was worth the chance. If not, at least I'd be in Amsterdam. Wanted to go there since I was five years old…

I opened up to Google, hunting out directions to get the hell out of this country.

* * *

Matt sipped back on his fifth energy drink for the day, glaring at one of the monitors. He had wanted to ignore Killbane's call, but when the circumstances were explained to him…

He sighed and glanced about his London flat, a cramped space filled with the paraphernalia of his previous life. He missed it, he did… only seventeen and he'd been royalty in Steelport, before those bloody Saints showed up. He knew he'd gotten off lightly with the leader too, but hearing some of the horror stories of what she did… it had given him a rather paranoid bent. He often considered he'd only been let go because the woman liked to do her killing in person and for that reason had straight up fled the country, making sure he was always operating under that FBI woman's radar.

"How the mighty have fallen," he mused solemnly to himself, glaring back to the consol. He'd help Killbane find Gat. If it worked, he could be reinstated; if not… the Saints would never know he was involved. As for finding Gat, he had a car numberplate and model of the one he stole and approximate destination. After that, it was a matter of anticipating human nature. Gat wouldn't know there'd already be a trace on him; first thing he'd do, would be to try and contact his gang. It was taking all the power from his network to try and get hits on certain searches, concentrating on internet cafes and the like…

Finally, one hub in Brussels seemed to be feeding back to him. Lots of stuff on the Saints, he noted. He tapped the console a few cryptic times and another monitor flashed, showing everything that was being done on the computer in Brussels.

"Ah, looking to make a run to Amsterdam, are you?" he muttered aloud as he observed the screen. Miller smirked, a quick tap into the local street cams confirmed his suspicions and he adjusted his headset, putting a call quickly through to Killbane. Two rings later and he was swiftly answered.

"Killbane, I pegged him."

* * *

**Johnny Gat's guide to Europe… he should work for Lonely Planet.**


	9. Piecing the Puzzle

**Oh G_od_. This fucker is finally done! For a chapter where I didn't think much would happen, it sure took a bloody long time... sorry to have kept you guys waiting on it!**

* * *

The parks in Steelport were strangely peaceful places. The wind through the trees, the birds, the peace occasionally punctuated by children's laughter. At night they used to be hangouts for Luchadors or Morningstar but we'd long since cleared them out and you could see a few of the Steelport residents tentatively appearing in the playgrounds again with their kids.

Till I show up with _my_ baby boy, that is.

Trouble rolled merrily over the grass, stretching his long frame out and was happy enough to ignore me now, glad to be out of the high rise. The few people who had chosen to stay were still watching him curiously, though most of the mothers (after spying me) moved their children away protectively. Only one kid, a young boy stayed close enough to watch him, sitting up on a boulder and absently breaking sticks apart.

"I'll never know why people would want to raise families in this city," I said with a light shake of my head. Viola leaned back next to me, her usual turtleneck replaced by a high neckline tank top and her purple trimmed sunglasses for once over her eyes rather than perched on her head. The park had been her idea, as it usually was. I think she was a closeted out-doors person.

"Most people don't, if they have the choice," she said, matter-of-factly. I stayed leant forward with my elbows on my knees, keeping an eye on Trouble to be sure he wasn't living up to his name sake. He was just sunning himself now, tail occasionally flicking.

"How close are we to getting Killbane?" Viola asked then, her tone deceptively cool. I glanced sidewards at her.

"Stalled. He's skipped the country," I said and I could see a twitch in the corner of her mouth, "The up side is we got a fix on someone who might know his location or at least a way to contact him."

I leant back to look at her and she raised her eyebrows at me.

"Was wondering if you were up for an excursion to the docks with me and Angel?" I offered. Viola tilted her head thoughtfully.

"Been a while since I got some decent action," she said lightly. I didn't respond right away, only nodded.

The truth was I didn't trust Viola, not really. I could have confidence in her motivations, sure - you could always trust revenge. What concerned me was what was going to happen _after_. I doubted she had any true loyalty to the Saints; not that I thought her a deceptive person, she was just a survivalist and we had been a means to an end for her. I could almost imagine her childhood, just her and her twin Kiki, best friends, relying on each other and no one else, clawing their way to the top. I got why she turned on Killbane or I could at least guess. Killbane takes over, Kiki goes missing, Viola joins the Saints… it doesn't take a genius to figure out what happened. What concerned me is how quickly she turned on her own gang; she if she wanted to rip the Luchadors a new one that was fine but she was just… so _okay_ she was with killing Morning Star. _The gang she fucking ran_.

I try to imagine roles being reverse, but I don't think I could ever kill my people like she did. I'm sure without her sister now Viola was alone in the world. The best I could do now was to make her feel like a part of the family, and watch out for those pesky knives that tended to find their way into my back.

Trouble was up on his feet soon, slowly and lithely padding his way to me like a model down a cat walk. Once he reached me he rested his head on my nee expectantly and I tickled his nose lightly, causing him to scrunch and rub his cheeks against my shin.

I felt Viola nudge me then and looked up to where she was indicating – that kid was slowly approaching, twisting his fingers. He stopped when I looked at him.

He wasn't particularly scruffy, not like the Shivington children. But the clothes were obviously cheap or hand-me-downs. He also had that gangly, wiry look that told me he spent more time outside mucking around than inside like the richer kids usually did. His hair was dusty brown and could use a cut, his features that kind of odd, half rounded half sharp look that made it next to impossible to tell his ethnicity, like some kind of complex racial recipe.

He took another tiny step forward and looked to Trouble, then me.

"Can I pat him?" he asked, his voice small.

"Sure honey," Viola said easily and I shot her a cold look. He gave a smile, now boldly approaching trouble who watched him warily. The kid put his hand to Trouble's back, running his palm down his spine repetitively.

"What's his name?" the kid asked, now totally trusting and unafraid. I could have laughed.

"Trouble," I replied, and the kid nodded approvingly.

"That's a cool name," the boy informed me, "My mom got me a hamster and made me call him Huggles. Huggles is a stupid name."

I heard Viola's quiet, lyrical chuckle at that.

"That _is_ true," she said. The boy kept still watching Trouble, still patting his back happily.

"I like Tigers. What do you feed him?" he asked. For a kid who had all of his opinions tolerable fixed, he _was_ an inquisitive one. I decided I didn't hate him.

"Cat food," I said blandly, then felt a dark smirk. I looked at him over the tops of my aviators, fixing him with a venomous gaze, "Sometimes people."

The kid blinked, his eyes wide, "Whoah, like, _bad_ people?" he breathed. Kids could be amusing; maybe it was just how gullible they were, or how accepting of strange ideas. The world hadn't gotten to them yet.

"In my opinion, yes," I said cryptically and he frowned, continuing to steadily pat Trouble's coat, the same spot repetitively.

"Would he… would he eat _kids?_" he asked, "Cos there's this boy at my school and he's a _bad_ kid-"

It took me a moment to realise this boy was asking me to feed his classmate to a tiger. I should put this kid on lay-by. Canonise him in eight to ten years.

I drew a smoke out of my pack and lit up, taking a deep drag, "I dunno. Maybe," I teased, then added thoughtfully, "He'd probably like it actually, children would be very tender. Like veal."

"…Mom says veal is just a special word for beef," the boy informed me.

"Veal is a _baby_ _cow_," I corrected, "They take the baby away from its mom soon after it's born and they kill it, right there," I said. The boy's eyes went wide in wonderment and I considered how far I could push it, "Sometimes in front of her, just so she can watch."

He couldn't suspend his disbelief at that point, "Nuh-uh."

"It's true. In the olden days they used to just cut the baby right out of the mom's belly, cook it on the spot."

"Justinian!"

We all glanced up at the panicked, angry voice. A soccer mom was striding over quickly, indicating hurriedly to the boy to come to her, watching Viola and me with frightened, furious eyes.

'Justinian' barely spared us another glance before running obediently to his mother, who instantly put and arm around his thin shoulders and hurried him away. It was then I felt Viola's eyes on me.

"The hell is wrong with you?" she asked dryly and I raised me eyebrow at her.

"What?"

"Saying shit like that to kids," she said, nodding after he boy who I saw was now being scolded by his mother, "He's gonna have nightmares."

"Please, at _worst_ he'll become a vegetarian," I said with a snort, taking a drag of my smoke and blowing with away nonchalantly, "And considering the shit that can go down in a meat packing plant, I can't say it's a bad thing."

Viola was shaking her head, but she was smirking, amused.

"C'mon, I wasn't gonna lie to the kid," I amended and even behind her sunglasses, I could see the utterly flat look she rolled my way.

"_They kill the babies in front of their moms?_" She parroted dryly. I smirked, shrugged, and took another drag of my smoke.

"…They might in Europe?"

* * *

"Any clue what they might be lugging?" I asked lowly as I glared from the car window. The signal that was coming from the docks turned out to be stationed on a large tug boat the Luchadors had commandeered; the deck swarmed with the green clad people moving crates in the dim light of dusk.

"I'd go with drugs; that boat looks like it can cross a distance," Angel replied from the back seat but Viola shook her head, glaring through the binoculars.

"Looks like straight up supplies at the moment," she corrected, "I think a few of the crew as staying on that thing. Angel, you see Espinosa?" she asked as she handed the binoculars to the back seat. Angel glared through them, silent for a moment.

"…He just went in the cabin," he growled darkly. I didn't wait for anything else.

"Let's go."

With that I pushed the door open, slinging my SMG from my shoulder. Angel and Viola were quick to follow as we marched down the dock after me.

"And it's a _ship_," I heard Viola correct him.

"No it's not. It's too small," Angel corrected in turn and I had to roll my eyes.

"It's got two decks and a life boat."

"That doesn't prove anything."

"Shut up, both of you!" I snapped over my shoulder. Christ. If I was in a car I would have pulled it over and smacked them both. I started in a low dash and as soon as got near the ship, started firing, the first two guards on the dock dropping like flies. Gunfire behind me told me Angel and Viola were at work, and we charged the vessel, the surprised and unprepared Luchadors scrambling for cover as we tore into them. We fought our way up the gangway, Viola reloading as I covered her and Angel charging ahead as if he were Oleg, smashing into his former gang and pummelling them. Once we were on the deck I ducked behind a crate as the crew that were inside the vessel came flooding out, guns drawn. I jutted out from my cover once I reloaded and let fly with a few careful shots, picking them off.

Angel wasn't one for guns; he was breaking apart the unarmed bangers one by one and using their bodies as shields, firing the pistols that were still in the corpses hands.

"Viola, you think you can get inside and secure Juan?" I called out over the rattling of my SMG.

"I'm on it," she said deftly, quickly turning and spiriting herself along the boat (ship, whatever). I rolled out from my cover and gained more ground on them, slaughtering any masked thug that was in my way. The gang was clearly down to its dregs, the thin stock of new recruits barely making us pause. Not even a Brute, I could almost be disappointed.

But of course, just when you think it's too easy…

Then there was a sound I hadn't heard in some time – an electronic _swoosh_, like a lightsaber or a cable snapping. There was a crackling wave of static and a rush through the air, a lyric giggle by my ear.

I spun and saw her pause just in time to wink at me and swing her stupidly oversized war hammer.

"Mother _fu-_"

The moment I tried to leap out of the way she cracked it on the ground, the weapon clanging and sparking loudly as it set an electronic shockwave through the air and over the steel grated deck, racing up my legs like fire, the shock of it throwing my body back and causing my muscles to suddenly convulse. The yelp broke out of my chest as my body hit the ground and I groaned, hearing the giggle and the swish as she teleported off again, a blue blur on roller blades.

I pushed myself up and was quickly on my feet again, catlike and growling, trying to keep my eyes on her. I _fucking hate_ these roller-bitches. She swept up close by again, halting for a moment, her blue pig-tails bouncing about her shoulders and skimpy rah-rah skirt swishing over her hips.

"Long time no see pumpkin," she said and blew a kiss. I swung my gun at her but she was already gone, a blue blaze in her wake. I fired after the bluish trail, trying to predict where she'd go but the moment I thought I had her she'd instantly change directions, zipping off somewhere else; the longest she would ever pause would be to swing that damn hammer-

I frowned, instead keeping my eyes on other targets and my ears out for her. As I plucked off another two green-clad thugs, I heard that familiar _swoosh_ and the _clang_ as she stopped behind me. Then the giggle.

She lifted the hammer above her head and I crouched, twisted and readied to spring away – instead, I turned my gun on her and fired.

I only _just_ heard her shriek before the hammer impacted my shoulder; my breath hitched in my throat and I felt something crack as the electricity ripped through my muscles. My body spasmed uselessly on the ground, the shockwaves tearing up my bones till the eventually subsided and I groaned as the feeling rushed back to my limbs.

"On your feet, Xena!" I heard Angel yell at me from across the deck; I blinked up at him, my vision still a little blurred. He had a Luchador in a headlock and with a grunt, snapped his neck, instantly moving to his next target. My legs trembled slightly, overcoming the shock as I stood. My left shoulder wasn't so lucky I realised, a sharp pain was radiating from where the hammer hit.

There was a cry and a wet, spluttering cough behind me. The roller-girl was on the ground, bug eyed and gasping with a hand over her throat, blood rapidly spilling from between her fingers. Her face was soon white and in a moment, she dropped to the ground, the last of her blood pooling around her. I only snarled at her, readying my SMG with my good arm and turning on the last of the Luchadors that Angel hadn't dispatched. The last shots echoed around the hull, and soon the space was cleared. The only noise left were the muted sounds of the city carried over the wind. I looked towards the cabin and could hear two raised voices, one female, one male. Viola was already interrogating Espinosa.

"Shoulder?" came a gruff voice from beside me. Angel was shrugging off his hoodie, twisting the sleeves.

"Yeah. Nothin' too bad, the bitch just got me with a taser hammer," I said dryly. Angel nodded sagely and for a sore moment I remembered that Johnny would've chuckled…

"Here," Angel said, twisting the hoodie into a makeshift sling and gingerly touching my shoulder, "Collarbone looks fine," he decided, and I let him wrap the sling under my arm and around my neck.

"It'll be fine, just needs to rest for a day," I said, going to shrug but wincing. At that, Angel raised his eyebrows at me.

"I know you're a fast healer, but if anything's fractured it's going to take a _little_ more than twenty for hours."

I smirked. _Not in my case_, I thought, but stayed silent. Thanks to the strange condition Carlos had left me with, I trusted by now my body would be able to revert back in no time. I looked back then to the roller-girl's corpse, frowning.

"Did you run into any other Deckers out here?" I asked darkly. I thought we'd as good as wiped them out, or at least everything street side. Most of the Deckers that were left had become free-range hackers, staying out of gang business and living off what they could skim off their skills. _'Doing it for the lolz'_, was one little clan's slogans.

"I did. No real competition, but it does beg the question," Angel said, not bothering to finish his statement. I nodded at that, glancing to the small office just inside the cabin.

"Well if there's anyone who knows it'll be him," I said with a nod. As if to punctuate my statement, I heard a meaty, metallic thud as Viola pistol-whipped our prisoner. Angel followed me silently as I clattered up the short stairs, shooting a quick text through to Kinzie as I did: _Dkrs at the Luch op – ne ideas?_

Squeezing my phone back into my pocket I pushed the door open to the cabin. Juan was already duct-taped down to a chair, a red, swollen blotch over his skin where Viola had hit him.

"See? You could've just talked to _me_," she said darkly to him. Juan's glare turned to wide-eyed fear when he saw me. I guess I was getting a rep as far as my interrogation skills went. Still, with my arm in a sling it probably made me look a little less intimidating.

"… Juan Espinosa, isn't it?"

He glared up at me sardonically, his breathing staggered, crackling a little. I continued.

"Now you clearly understand what's going on; we have questions and you should have some answers. You cooperate, and we won't have to do anything too fucked up with you," I said and he narrowed his eyes at me. Angel was the first one on him though, impatiently grabbing the man by the back of the neck, squeezing sharply till out prisoner gave a small wail.

"Where's Eddie Pryor?" Angel growled impatiently. Juan glared up at him with disgust, snarling and about to spit at Angel, but he was beaten to the punch. Angel rammed his fist into Juan's gut and the man's resulting cry was combined with a dry retch. I felt my shoulders sag and put a hand on Angel's arm, nodding for him to stand back. Angel was still glaring at Juan but nodded, dutifully stepping out of the way. I leaned forward to fix a cold glare on Juan.

"We now you're in contact with Killbane. And we want to know how to find him," I said lowly, and I could tell he strained to hear me. He jutted his chin forward before answering.

"Killbane? That guy's a has-been," Juan spat, "He was unmasked, and then he ran from his final fight. This is _my_ gang now."

I crossed my arms over my chest.

"That so huh? Cos one of your boys told us you were still getting your orders directly from him."

Juan lifted his chin haughtily again, "There were a few still loyal to him. They didn't understand it, the _shame_," he said, his final word pointed directly at Angel, who I heard crack his knuckles.

"So that's what you told them, to keep them working with you…" I said lightly, thoughtfully. He was telling me this all too easily; Espinosa's only response was a chuckle.

"But that doesn't mean you don't know how to find him," I offered, and he became quite still, "You were one of his closest lieutenants."

"Not since he left. Like I said, it's my show now."

I frowned, glanced to Angel, then Viola. With a grunt I grabbed him by the front of his shirt, tugging him forward and snarling into his face.

"I'm not buying it."

"Who cares? You're going to kill me anyway," he said darkly and I narrowed me eyes.

"It's up to you how long that takes." With that, I let him go, swung my SMG back into my hand and peppered one shot into his ankle, the impact blowing part of the bone away. He screamed, dry, agonised huffs following.

"You're honestly telling me he's never tried to contact you?" I asked darkly. Juan grunted and huffed, too shocked from the pain at that moment to respond. Angel marched over to him then, gripping him by the hair and pulling his face back.

"She asked you a question," he growled lowly, "Tell us how to find Killbane."

Juan's teeth were gritted and he glared up at Angel.

"Fuck you _cabrón_," he snarled, and Angel swiftly cracked his fist into the other's face. I frowned a little but said nothing; Luchadors were used to mindless beatings, they were canonised just like Saints were. Needed something a little more persuasive. I tapped my trigger finger against my gun thoughtfully then approached him.

"…Better that than a _puta_," I said smilingly, sticking the still-hot muzzle of the gun against his crotch and he suddenly yelped. I smirked.

"Three, two-"

"He calls _me_," he blurted suddenly, "Different phone each time, okay? Even if I wanted to call him I can't and he's never on for more than a minute!"

I pulled the gun away from his crotch, narrowing my eyes at him as he allowed the tiniest sigh of relief. Made sense – it's what I would've done in the situation especially since Killbane understood Kinzie's prowess with technology.

"How often?" I asked darkly and he hung his head.

"…A few times, only once in the past two weeks though."

Viola was already on him, rifling through his pockets for his cell phone. I observed him for a while before continuing my interrogation once Viola's hands were off him, gripping his cell.

"What were the Deckers doing here?" I pressed then and he blinked up at me worriedly.

"Th-The Deckers…?" he stammered, "Just some kids that needed some work-"

"_C'mon_ Juan," I sighed, drumming my fingers over my gun again, "If you're looking for muscle you don't turn to the _Deckers_."

He clamped down again. I sighed and shot a quick look to Viola who shrugged, then to Angel, who cracked his knuckles.

"Juan, you're making this hard on yourself," I said, reaching down to my boot and drawing out my knife.

* * *

I hissed as I tried taping up my shoulder – the skin was red and singed, threads of black like tree roots crawling over my skin from where the hammer had impacted. I didn't doubt something was fractured; a few blue steaks and maybe some calcium tablets should be right as rain in a day or two.

I _could_ guess as to why eating raw meat when I had a bit of zombie blood in me helped my body 'revert' faster. But I never much liked to speculate on that. Neither did anyone else who was clued in to my strange condition, except-

Johnny.

I let myself give another grunt, gingerly leaning my arm on the counter and trying not to think about him. How he _should_ be here, fixing my arm up, saying something dry and teasing and making me laugh. He wasn't weirded out by me at all, or if he was, he had the nuts not to show it.

I sniffed, feeling heat prickling behind my eyes and swallowed the lump in my throat, thinking instead about my shoulder. I tugged the tape out and gingerly wound it around the joint, awkwardly trying to tear the strip off with my teeth.

"You're making a damn mess of that."

I glanced over my shoulder and glared. Angel was standing in the doorway, arms folded across his chest. I was suddenly hoping my eyes weren't red and I frowned at him.

"How long have you been standing there?" I glowered. I probably wouldn't care so much if I was wearing more than a bra and torn jeans. Angel's face was impassive when he responded.

"…Long enough to see you butchering your arm. Here," he said, taking a step forward, but I could feel his eyes on me. Dammit. Injured, lonely and half-naked. He sure knew when to pick his moments.

He was carefully peeling the tape off my shoulder again, and I watched his progress in the mirror, glaring a little at my own reflection.

"So. Matt Miller," Angel ventured casually as he worked and I closed my eyes and nodded.

"Kinzie's on this like white on rice. I only had to say the name… _and no_ I'm not relying on her too much," I quickly added, snapping my eyes open to gauge his expression in the mirror. I leant against the sink a little tiredly; the shock from the hammer had by now given me a blinding headache and the bright light of the bathroom wasn't helping. I'd gone straight to the Three Count penthouse along with Angel after burning the tug boat and all it's occupants to the bottom of the docks. Viola (looking a little green herself after seeing what we'd done to Juan) had opted to go back to Safeword.

It had taken Angel and me a while to twist it out of Juan before he finally admitted that apparently, Miller was trying to get back in the game. He'd been orchestrating a few small ops street side, which just sounded weird to me. It wasn't usual Decker activity…

"You really think she'll dig up anything useful? It seems like small time stuff," he growled back. I closed my eyes as I felt him carefully examining my shoulder, not that he needed to.

"Leaving Matt alive was just one of my mistakes," I admitted darkly, "Killbane hasn't killed him for his betrayal because he knows he's too valuable. They're still working together, I can feel it."

He was quiet while he roughly rubbed a numbing gel over the joint, and I automatically fell into silence too, closing my eyes and willing my headache away.

His hands felt warm. They had that same, slightly calloused touch I was so familiar with. For a while, I let my mind wander, let it trick me… I was only a little aware he was standing closer than he needed to. Johnny would've stood that close to me though…

"You're a true leader. I don't think I've ever met a woman as strong as you," he said and I scowled. _Shut up, you're spoiling it_.

"I have to be," I replied shortly. There was a snapping rip as Angel pulled out a fresh length of tape and got to work on my arm, expertly binding the joint like he must have done with so many other injuries.

"Do you get tired of it?" he asked. I felt a slight scowl flicker over my brow.

"Of what?"

"Fighting."

I fought the urge to open my eyes and look at him. "…This from you?"

He was quiet for a moment, "I live for it," he said lowly, close enough I could feel his voice on me. He slowly smoothed the last piece of tape down, but he hand didn't stop – it ran gradually over my shoulders, to the back of my neck, pushing my hair out of the way to expose my skin, moving it to rest over my shoulder. I kept my eyes closed, using the pain in my head to block him out, only thinking about the warmth of the body behind me. When I didn't move, he became bolder.

"To the point I forget there's more to life than that," he said lowly. I kept still; there's a tiny part of me remembering where I am, who this is… but it's losing out at the moment as my memory and imagination take over. I kept my eyes closed, focusing on the feel of his hands. Hot, lightly calloused fingertips, just like Johnny's…

He stepped up closer still to my back and I could just feel his breath on my neck, the thin fabric of his singlet the only barrier between his skin and mine. The same height and build, _so familiar_…

"You don't miss it?"

The hand that had been resting on my shoulder slowly slid down my back, lightly stopping at my waist and another hand mimicking it on the other side. The fingers crept around to my front and a tingling flush ran over my skin as he tugged me a little closer, till I felt his hips pressed up against me. The breath on my neck grew hot and I felt lips brush gently over my skin behind my ear – my insides twisted warmly, surprising me and I let go of a small breath, leaning back onto his chest. _Johnny…_

He gently nipped at my neck and I tilted my head a little more, a shiver racing up my spine as he pushed the fabric of my shirt up, those warm hands over my stomach, one inching higher, another daring to inch lower.

Johnny's warm lips pressed onto my jaw, then at the corner of my mouth and I instinctively turned, parting my lips to the kiss-

But the moment his tongue slipped against mine I frowned then sharply pulled away, my eyes snapping open. The taste and feel was wrong. I couldn't pretend my way through that.

Angel was looking back at me, his lips flushed and eyes dark.

"What's wrong?"

I swallowed carefully and quickly looked away, resisting the urge to wipe my mouth.

"Just… get out," I said swiftly, cringing. Angel looked like he was about to say something but thought better of it. He gave me one last hungry look, before turning and striding across the bathroom, out into the hallway.

I turned, leaning forward against the sink and my breaths were suddenly heavy. The woman in the mirror looked guiltily back at me, her lips flushed and parted, her icy eyes still dilated. I rubbed at my mouth with the back of my hand then, hard, furious at myself, till a small choked sob rattled out of me.

Yes. I was getting tired of it.

* * *

**What is it with me and torture scenes lately?**


	10. Amster damn!

**You may have been wondering where I've been as of late. Well, as I mentioned, there's been another side-project I've been working on, but the good news is, it's finally getting published!**

**Story of a Third Street Clusterfuck is a collab effort, so if you're looking for something to read between my updates, I suggest you go check it out! It's slightly AU to this universe, but is proving to be a lot of fun ;)  
**

**Anyway, back to "Johnny Gat's Guide to Europe"**

* * *

Y'know Europe is a real small place. Far as I can tell they don't even really have countries anymore; I'd been worried about trying to get into the Netherlands without a passport but they just waved me on through, no problem. That was a relief at least.

I wish I could say I took time to take it all in; like I said I'd never even been out of America before but I had a few other fuckin' problems on my mind.

For one, wonderin' how long it'd be before that Killbane guy would track me down. From what I gathered his gang shouldn't have too many resources left but the Syndicate itself… either way, I couldn't be too careful. It was bad enough I was driving as stolen car, the last thing I needed was to get pulled over by the cops.

I'll tell you something though, Amsterdam didn't disappoint. I don't really know what I'd been expecting when I got here, but the place was a bit like Venice – almost as much water as there was roads only this city wasn't sinking. And all I ever heard about this place was how crazy the Red-light District was and how you can get hash brownies in pretty much any café but after trawling the streets for a while, you can tell there's more to the place than that. Still, I wasn't here to go boating around the canals (pfft). I hit the city around dusk and luckily, pretty much everyone here speaks English and could point me in the right direction.

The Red-light District. Fuck, and I thought the _Saints_ could run hos. I aint ever seen one whole city just about given itself over to the sex trade but Amsterdam's got it down to a fine art. There's separate areas, y'know, African, Asian, Blue Light (fag joints, if you were wondering) and then a sizeable part given over to the Eastern Europeans. The Russian mob has a lot of stock in Amsterdam, something I was counting on.

I _like_ this place. Reminds me of home, y'know, if home was a city that was a couple of hundred years old or so and had nicer buildings. Walkin' over a bridge I passed a few trannies who made a pass at me, which took me back ten years or so, to sharing a beer on the steps of the church with the Boss and listening out for the majestic, screaming transsexuals of Second Street…

I'm gonna bring her here one day. She'll love it, I know she will. She likes art and stuff and there's supposed to be a Van Gogh museum (the guy who cut his ear off) so she can go knock around there and ooh-ah over the paintings. But I digress…

I'd trawled the district for hours trying to hunt the place out. '_Sluwe Vos'_ it was called. I still got double takes now and then but in a backpackers' hotspot, no one was really taking notice of me, particularly when most of the crowds down this end of town were rowdy British Stag parties. Red and pink neon lights announced it, and like most of the places, had some girls dancing in the windows… now _there_ was an idea. Looking at the brothel I got a pretty good idea of what sort of place it was – one girl sat on a chain swing, she was strapped up in black leather and had this riding crop… _phew_. The other one barely wore a thing other than thigh-high red boots and a gimp mask, but she sure was uh… _bendy_.

"Specialty place, huh?" I muttered to myself moving up the stoop and pushing my way inside.

The cathouse was dimly lit in red and the air had a slight haze of smoke. Even though it was a brothel it did have a small 'reception' area that just looked like a cramped strip club, a small bar to one side. The music was low, heavy rock and up on the stage, one girl was weaving her way around a pole, a few people sitting on the black leather couches to watch her, some getting lap dances, another being led off to a room. Two girls were sitting up in a cage putting on a little show of their own, one a dominatrix and the other clearly her prey.

Have I mentioned I _love_ Amsterdam?

So anyway, I walked straight up to the bar and ordered two fingers, narrowing my eyes and glancing around the place. _Sluwe Vos_. I was pretty sure it was the right place, but I couldn't spot the guy I was looking for right away. No guarantee he'd be here tonight, but there was always a chance.

The barmaid dropped my whiskey in front of me and I leant forward just before she left.

"Yo, I'm lookin' for someone," I started. She blinked at me.

"In this place, everybody is looking for somebody," she said, her voice heavy with a Slavic accent.

"Not like that," I said, leaning forward on my elbows, "Stan Volkov."

She blinked at me, giving away much more than she intended to.

"…Stanislav?" she voiced uncertainly, then eyed me suspiciously. She glanced to her side where a woman was leaning up against the wall, watching everything going on in the joint hawkishly. Den mothers, you could spot them a mile away. Her attention was quickly caught and she sauntered over to us.

Okay, it was hard not to stare at this one; she looked like something out of Marilyn Manson's wet dream. She was strapped up in black vinyl, her top half looking like it was only covered by something made out of studded belts, with a collar, a set of handcuffs hanging from her hip… A bit pale with jet black hair scooped up and held in place with a set of chopsticks and a few freckles over her nose, she was pretty cute. But her skin was also mottled with a few scars, and they didn't look like the kind you get in a car accident. As she stopped she spoke lowly with the blonde barmaid in another language I couldn't understand, her gaze shifting towards me then. In the red glow her blue irises looked kinda purple.

She strutted over to me then, her hands on her hips and she narrowed her eyes at me.

"What are you wanting to see him for?"

"Business," I said flatly. She gave me a long look before nodding, walking to the end of the bar and giving me a small indication to follow her to a set of stairs leading up to a mezzanine level. I was about to start climbing them when she held a hand out against my chest, and without preamble gave me a full pat-down till she was satisfied, turning on her stripper-high stiletto and continuing up.

Yeah, cos I'd need a weapon to kill one old man… as she rounded the top she stopped, speaking to someone who wasn't in view yet.

"_Sushchestvuyet Amerikanskaya zdesʹ, on khochet pogovoritʹ s vami."_

There was a low mumble of something and she walked a little further in, allowing me to pass.

I'd half been expecting an office, but it just opened out into an equally cramped space with slightly nicer furniture, a couch, a leather armchair, a chest pressed up against one wall. And the man I'd been hunting, Volkov himself, was sitting splayed out on a sofa, a hookah to the side, a bottle of vodka on the table before him and a young pink-haired woman curled up next to him with an arm over his shoulders, glaring up at me with a pout. He appraised me for a while before deciding to speak; if he was surprised, he hid it well.

"… And here the world thought you were dead," he said, his English still stuck with a Russian lilt, his eyes narrowing at me slightly. I took a few steps forward, taking the liberty of sinking down into the leather arm chair opposite.

"Sorry to disappoint," I said dryly. The man glanced to the woman beside him and muttered something in what sounded like Russian. She shrugged, peeling herself up off the couch and wandered off down the stairs wordlessly with the dominatrix who'd lead me up here. Volkov leant forward to take the vodka bottle and refilled his glass, glancing up at me by means of an offer. I wordlessly shook my head, holding up the tumbler that still held the scotch.

"So," he finally said as he settled back with his glass, fixing me with an eerily familiar glare, "Before you start, you'll understand if I have a few questions for you."

I briefly waved my glass, taking a casual sip of the whiskey. This man was ever composed; getting turbulent around him wasn't the best way to get his help.

"… How was she the last time you saw her?" he asked, feigning a friendly smile. I felt my shoulders shrug with a silent laugh.

"Happy," I replied, "I think a bit bored with the celebrity life, but happy."

He nodded slowly then took a long drink from his vodka. I'm pretty sure he was taking his time like this on purpose.

"How did you find me?" he asked, swirling his drink.

"She kept loose tabs on you since you showed up in Stilwater and after you left," I said flatly, "All I knew is that you owned this place."

"Does she know you're alive?"

"No."

Then the old man actually had the balls to give me a dangerous look. Dammit, that glare was annoyingly familiar. The more he did it the more I could see the resemblance. Not in the colouring; he had sort of an olive monotone look about him. But it was all in the bone structure, the nose and cheeks.

"Not my choice," I added loosely, "And actually one of the reasons I'm here, I can't reach her."

"And you think I can?" he asked dryly, "She made it very clear last time she doesn't want me being able to contact her."

"Yeah I know that. But I need to get back to America and I need to do it under the radar. And I know that _you_ know people who can make this happen," I said flatly. He was silent, still appraising me.

"How did you even end up here in Europe?" he asked, faintly amused and I let myself glare at him.

"Well you know, you hijack a plane then get shot and abducted by a dickweed Frenchman, you're gonna end up in Europe with no passport," I said with a shrug and he actually chuckled.

"For four months?"

"Comatose."

"That's inconvenient."

I swallowed the last of my scotch to hide my scowl and I gotta admit, struggled with the decision _not_ to simply beat the answers out of him. He was going to help me anyway.

"I have a few friends who can help you… if I call in a favour I can get you a passport by tomorrow good enough to get you from country to country, maybe not into America…" he said and I glowered.

"Then what's the fuckin' point of that?" I shot at him and he only raised his eyebrows at me.

"You're alone and friendless in a foreign country," he said with a cool drawl, taking a lengthy sip of his vodka, "You have no money, no passport, and by the sounds of it, you're being hunted if you so much as try to contact your gang. Go on. Complain about the help I'm offering."

Son of a fucking… it took everything I had to keep my mouth shut – not exactly my strong point. Stanislav leant forward then, pouring himself another glass and taking a generous mouthful.

"You get your passport, should be enough to get to Casablanca. I wouldn't go by air though," he said, then got up to his feet and went to the chest pressed up against the wall and twisted the combination lock on it, "From there you can get a flight to Cuba, from there a boat to Miami. I'm sure you can work out the rest. I can give you a list of names and how to contact these people…" he lifted the heavy lid of the chest, pulling out a rifle and a hand gun, "They will want money, and if you can not give them that, they will want favours."

He turned to me, and placed the two guns down on the table in front of me, "But if there's one thing men like us understand, it's that a single bullet can make a fortune."

I looked down at the guns then up at him with a raised eyebrow.

"…Passport and guns, huh?" I asked dryly. There had to be more to this, "In exchange?"

He sat himself back down with a slight grunt, showing his age. He looked into his glass, taking another mouthful to empty it before finally speaking.

"I have not always been the man I should have been Mr. Gat," he said tiredly, the kind of exhaustion you don't hear in anyone under the age of fifty, "Least of all to my daughter. And despite the fact that you're an arrogant, impertinent thug with not enough brains or self control to know when to keep his mouth shut, I can't deny you've taken better care of her than I ever bothered to. Consider it a long overdue gift to you both."

We glared at each other while before I finally felt a smirk over my mouth, leaning forward to take the bottle of vodka and pouring a spill into my glass, lifting it in a brief salute. It was clear he wasn't expecting any second chances (although in his case, fifty-third chance) but I knew regret when I saw it.

"I'd never say this to her," I started, "But she takes after you more than she thinks."

He smiled at that, then shook his head, "For her sake, I hope not. And for your sake, at least she got her mothers looks. And heart."

I gotta admit, I was getting curious, "… She doesn't tell me much about her life, y'know, before she joined the Saints."

He only gave me a knowing smile and shrugged, "Then I'm sure she'd have her reasons," he said, and clamped down tighter than a vault. I glowered.

"Definitely takes after you."

He only chuckled, and was quiet for a moment. I was glaring at the guns, thinking.

"How long will this all take?" I asked. Hopping that many countries sounded like a task.

"… Hmn," he growled, drumming his fingers over his glass, "If you move fast, four days. I'd say five to be safe."

I slumped back into my seat and tried not to groan. It could be a week before I got back? Usually this wouldn't bug me but knowing the crew was back home, thinkin' I was fucking _dead_… I just wanted to get back to them.

"How long till you can get me that passport?"

"Like I said, a day at most. Unless you want to wait longer, and we can find you one good enough to fly you straight home…" he said and I glanced up expectantly, but he only frowned, "That would take much longer to acquire."

"Fuck."

I heard him give a half chuckle, half sigh before he spoke again, "You look tired, son. Stay here, catch your breath. We'll get this business sorted."

I raised my eyebrows, taking another sip of vodka, "And in the meantime?"

"You are in Amsterdam, Johnny," he said, taking a smoke form the hookah and breathing out serenely, "Enjoy yourself."

* * *

Oaky, so there could be more constructive ways to spend my time…

But hey, when in Rome. Or in this case, Amsterdam. I relaxed back onto the sofa, watching the girl bend and weave herself against the pole. She looked Baltic, kinda pale with blonde hair. Don't think she spoke a lick of English.

The woman from before dropped another glass of vodka down my by hand, then moved to stand in front of me, blocking my view. I glanced up at her as her hips started to sway with the music.

"Sup?" I asked with a smirk and she raised an eyebrow at me.

"Stanislav is telling me you are a good friend of his, yes?" she said, edging closer, her waist weaving along. I shrugged, leaning back further into the sofa. Hey, I knew a lap-dance coming when I saw it.

"He is asking me to keep you company," she continued with a wry smile, twisting and running her hands down her body. My mind went blank for a moment before I managed to look back up at her face.

"Here I thought you were the den mother," I said curiously.

"That is true," she said, before stabbing her stiletto heel into the cushion next to me, a little too close for comfort – my eyes ran appreciatively up the inside of her leg and she smirked at me, "But like I am saying, you are Stanislav's good friend."

"I also got a girl at home and I'm the monogamous type," I warned and she tilted her head, "Not that I'm not enjoying the show."

She chuckled, "You are lucky, I think. I play rough."

"Really, this being a BDSM place I wouldn'tve guessed."

She paused only for a moment in her dance, before dropping down closer, her knees either side of my lap, "…You are sarcastic, yes?"

"Yep," I said and she started weaving to the music again, hands running over her body and her crotch waving about an inch from mine. I folded my hands behind my head and did my best to appear nonchalant. Not easy; dark hair, pale skin and a penchant for black leather had her reminding me of the woman waiting for me at home. Picturing _her_ dressed like that and doing… that… yeah, it's distracting.

She ran a hand down my front which didn't help, before eventually sliding her arms around my neck, pressing her body flush against mine. _That_ point was a little far – the last time a woman so much as grabbed my ass the Boss concussed her and threatened to rip her tits off. I gripped the woman's hips and she smirked at me, but her smile faltered when she realised I was lifting her away, dropping her next to me on the sofa. She raised her eyebrows at me, looking a little offended, then she shrugged, casually slinging her legs over my lap and getting herself comfortable.

"I am paid either way," she said lightly. I chuckled; it was clear she wasn't about to give up.

"That so?" I asked, "Guess Stan's not such an asshole after all."

She tucked a loose lock of hair behind her ear thoughtfully, "I would not say Stanislav is a good man," she mused, "But no, he is not _asshole_."

I nodded; the girls here seemed a little more chatty than their Stilwater counterparts. I think they liked building a rapport, "He treats his girls well here?" I had to ask. I was curious about this family after all. She crossed her legs elegantly and somehow managed to look dangerous when she did, or maybe it was her dark, wary look that made me think that.

"Strange question for a _John_ to ask," she said and I shrugged.

"Guarding rackets like this used to be one of my gigs, and pimp-hunting was a sport."

She smiled approvingly at that, then her eyes searched for an answer to my question, "Stanislav… I am not knowing why, but he is being a good man to me. In this business it is unusual."

"I think I could tell why," I said, taking in the dark hair and pale skin again. She met my gaze fearlessly, a familiar look that made me smile, "So what can I call you?"

She smirked and began toying with a riding crop she had attached onto her hip, "Mistress Perestroika, because you will be telling me everything, my pet."

"Not fuckin' likely," I said with a snort and she stretched her legs suggestively, bending one knee to rest her sharp stiletto on the inside of my leg, a touch harder than was comfortable. Yikes.

"I am having my ways," she warned.

"_And I am thinking_ your ways involve some'o that kinky shit you're keeping upstairs. That ain't gonna fly 'Stroika," I warned again and she was clearly becoming amused. I added as an afterthought, "Tell you what. I got some questions, you answer'em, I'll answer yours."

She shrugged, "Fair."

"Stan up there," I nodded to the mezzanine level where Stan was apparently getting onto a few of his contacts for me, "He ever talk about his family?"

"_Stanislav_ is not being… _personable_ with his employees," she replied.

"You said he treated you pretty good though, how'd you end up here?"

Her eyes went distant for a beat before she met my gaze again, "…After the war, I was needing out of the country. The Russian mob offered me a way out. The price was being high, but I figured in a few years I would be having my own place… it is being the same for most girls here."

"… But you ain't ever heard him-"

"Uh-uh," she cut me off with a smirk, "It is being my turn now. What is bringing you to Amsterdam, John?"

I flinched, "First rule there, don't you call me that," I growled. I hate being called _John_. Especially in the context she was using. She shrugged.

"What am I calling you?"

"Gat."

She snorted, "That is sounding like something a lazy person is calling a pet."

"Johnny then," I said with a wry smile, "Just not John. That's worse than Jonathan."

She gave me a long star after that, her eyes tracing quickly over my face and I could see her mind working, sticking the two names together.

"… That man is supposed to be dead," she said lowly. I met her wary gaze for a while before I shrugged.

"So I keep hearing."

She tilted her head, still scanning me, her eyes lingering on my tattoos and I saw her delicately bite at her bottom lip, shifting to lean in closer, "…What is bringing you to Amsterdam, _Johnny Gat?_"

"It's more a matter of what's keeping me," I said cryptically and she smiled. But then I noticed something… weird. Once of the girls in the background, through the dim light and the smoke-

She was Asian.

Any other cathouse and it wouldn't have mattered, but like I said, the district was divided up. And the girls here were pretty much all Baltic or Slavic. 'Stroika snapped her fingers in front of my eyes.

"…What is problem?"

I frowned about me for half a second before I began to notice a lot of the clientele were all female, most of them Asian. Something itched at me. That feeling where the hairs on the back of your neck stand up and you feel ready to run.

"Yo… she one'o yours?" I asked, nodding to the Asian girl, who looked over her shoulder, eyes meeting mine. If the Russian answered me I didn't know it, because in that minute I saw the flash of silver as the girl pulled a gun from the folds of her skirt.

"_Shit!_" I grabbed Stroika by the shoulders and dove us both over the back of the sofa as the girl opened fire, the air suddenly erupting into screams and shouts.

"Fuck and shit!" Stroika yelled, covering her head with her hands, the bullets slamming into the wall and showering us with dust.

"Stay low!" I called to her over the sound of the screams, wishing for the thousandth time I had my gun on me – but I'd left the damn thing upstairs. _Smart, real smart_.

"GAT!" The voice was a shriek, high-pitched and I knew it came from that girl with the gun, "Face me, coward!"

_Coward?_

I gritted my teeth and tried to count in my mind how many shots she'd gotten off; I felt 'Stroika press something into my hand, a flip knife she must've been hiding _somewhere_, and she began crawling off behind the sofa. I nodded and slowly stood-

The screams had been replaced by angry shouts and frightened whimpers; all the girls and the few clients were cowering now under about five or so women, most of them dressed sleekly in black, but all, I noticed with a sharp moment of realisation, wore yellow flags.

The girl was a tiny thing, like if that Dice girl was Asian. She had an arm around the throat of that blonde barmaid from before, and the pistol on her temple.

"Coward huh? I ain't the one with a human shield bitch," I spat at her and she snarled with more fury than I'd ever seen on a person, about to fling her aim at me-

Her attention was suddenly caught and she fired up to the mezzanine level; there was a shout from someone who could only be Stanislav, then a furious shout of Russian, followed by the unmistakeable rattling of a Krukov. In that half second the blondie the Asian girl had been trying to keep hostage escaped, ducking low as the spray of bullets from Stanislav chased her across the room and she dived behind the bar.

In the brief moment I saw him I could see a splotch of blood over his chest by his shoulder. He was clutching at the wound and I knew he needed help but in that second the room erupted quickly into chaos again. Stroika appeared from wherever she'd slunk off to, giving a gusty yell as she fired a shotgun into the chest of one of the yellow-trimmed women who flew at her with a knife.

"Girls!" she shouted, cocking her shotgun, "Be making them your bitches!"

She must have caught my impressed grin, because she smirked at me, "What, you are thinking Stanislav is keeping me around for my pretty face?"

Rallied, the strippers began shrieking like banshees and attacked with whatever horrific bondage toys they could get their hands on, trying to take on their captors with sheer numbers. But these other women were tough, they were _skilled_. Amsterdam wasn't Stilwater, you couldn't just wander around with guns, but I'm pretty sure these women could kill very easily without them. I was about to pull one tall Asian woman off one of the strippers when a thin, grisly arm suddenly wrapped around my throat and the tiny body was stuck to my back like a limpet. I coughed and wrenched at her, but she was gripping tighter over my neck, and I couldn't breathe.

"I have _waited_ for this day," she hissed in my ear and I snarled as she continued to hiss, "Wanting to see the last whisper of life leave your body. _You are already de-OOPH!_"

I threw my body back into the wall, trying to crush her tiny frame. She gasped and dropped from me, and I turned to look at her, the brothel still in chaos around me, strippers whacking the assassins with chains, whips and dildos the size of baseball bats. The girl who'd started this, crumpled on the ground in front of me was dressed like a hooker to disguise herself –

An Asian girl with a crew, all wearing yellow flags, here to kill me. I didn't now who she was, but I didn't _have_ to. She grunted up at me breathlessly, then in one lightning move put all her weight on her arms, kicking out with both feet into my knee. And not my good knee either.

_Fucking old injuries_. I felt something scrape against something in the joint and pain shot right up my side as I dropped; she gave a furious yell as she dove at me again but I caught her scrawny fist this time, twisting sharply hoping to break it – she cried out with the pain but actually _flipped_ herself over with the twist of my arm to stop me winding her hand off, her slender leg following through and before I knew it impacted the side of my face.

I grunted and fell to the side – _dammit, this girl was slick_… and she was scrambling at me again. I grabbed her by the waist and turned again, pinning her down with my weight as my hand scrambled for the knife I'd dropped, curling around the cool handle. I barely drew my hand back as I plunged it down at her. Again, she was too fast, her hands coming up to catch my wrist.

She was fast, but strong as a twig compared to me. I pressed the blade down, aiming for her heart and she tried in vain to press back against me, before sharply wriggling. The knife slipped and sliced through the muscle that sat above her collarbone; she cried out when it did then began fucking _biting_ my hand. I felt a shout belt out of me and I smashed a fist across her cherub face. Something whacked me over the back of the head, stunning me for a moment; as I looked over my shoulder it was one of her crew, a tall Asian woman with her hair sawn short. She had a black rubber bat in her hand she probably had snatched form the wall and was swinging it again; I ducked and rammed my fist into her stomach and I heard her half cough, half retch when I shoved her back. I felt the little Asian bitch from before moving before she was actually on me and I turned back and grabbed her, getting up to my feet and throwing her in one quick move. She cried out angrily as she crashed into an open cage, her feet over her head.

Then there was a rough hand on the back of my collar, yanking me back and I was about to throw another punch before I heard the voice.

"Be moving. Out the back, you must go, now." I looked up at Stan's words as I hurriedly followed him, frowning over my shoulder. He shoved his way out the back of the building into the narrow alley, turning me and shoving a few things into my hands. A pistol, a wad of cash, and a piece of paper.

"Go," he said swiftly, "I am handling this."

I could still hear the commotion inside, 'Stroika bellowing something in Russian and I shook my head, "But-"

"Police officers are not being as lenient as they are in Stilwater," he said sharply in a familiar tone, "Go. You must get home. Here is list, names, numbers. Do not be wasting time."

His English was suddenly wasting, sounding more like Stroika's and I looked at the shot on his chest, "Stan you-"

"Let me be doing this right," he repeated, a hand clutching over the wound but his expression was steely.

"_Fuck!_" I grunted finally, only slapping him once on the shoulder, all the goodbye I could afford at that moment. I took of blindly down the alleyway as I crammed the paper and bills into my pockets, the gun into my belt. The screaming of sirens was already filling the air as the cops started closing in on the brothel.

I limped as I ran over the cobblestones; my _fucking_ knee usually only bugs me when it's raining, but now it felt like there was hot sand in the joint, grinding against the nerves every time I tried to move. I know anyone taking a shotgun to the knee should be glad they could _walk_ but this was still managing to piss me the fuck off…

There was a furious screech a ways off behind me-

"_Kunoichi! Iki-mas!_"

That little Jap _shit_. Japanese kid with a grudge, wearing yellow… the thought that she might be an Akuji made me want to stop dead in my tracks, turn around and _gut_ that little shit. But Stan was right. This wasn't Stilwater. Aside from the gun with only a few rounds left in it I was unarmed and unprepared compared to her and all her backup, and I had to keep moving. I hit another street, breathing heavily as I looked from one side to another, choosing to go right on nothing but raw instinct, shoving my way past a rowdy crowd of men who by the sounds of their accusations (_Piss off ya bloody wanka!_) were another one of those UK stag parties. I couldn't tell if that girl and her crew were chasing me or running off to hide for themselves. I heard sirens and wailing lights ahead and groaned, freezing as I hit the middle of a bridge.

Fuck. _Fuck_.

The canal beneath me wove off between buildings, the water inky and dark in the night. A boat was passing under the bridge, and before I gave myself a chance to really think the plan through I climbed up over the railing, dropping down onto the thick roof of the boat only just in time as it passed, grunting heavily as I landed. Not a moment later I heard the screeching of tyres as the cop car above my head screamed around the corner, having only _just_ missed me.

I breathed heavily, shifting to put my hands around my knee and squeezing, the pressure helping a little. _On your feet old man_.

I slid down from the roof, hearing a few confused voices from inside, further up the boat. But finally I had a huge stroke of luck; no one came to investigate. With a slight groan I slumped down against the wall of the long cabin, watching the waterway slowly shrink in front of me as the boat chugged along past the buildings.

"Looks like you're doing the canal tour after all," I mused to myself, huffing slightly as I pulled the cash and paper from my pockets. I went to count through the Euros, not much and an odd amount, clearly whatever he'd grabbed form his wallet when he could. The paper had a list he'd neatly written out, directions, names, contacts, at least I knew where to get the passport and who to talk to in each city. But at the bottom of the paper, next to a drop of blood was hastily scratched in pencil, _Caesar_, with a contact number. I had no idea who that was supposed to be or what the number was for, but it was obviously important enough he could stop in the middle of a clusterfuck to write it down while he was bleeding out.

I closed my eyes, leaning my head back onto the wood. And found myself really, _really_ hoping they were okay, Stan and 'Stroika.

* * *

**Can't seem to stay out of trouble...**


	11. Plan B

**I'm surprised by how much I enjoyed writing this, even if the process was a little slow... loving all the reviews you've been throwing my way! So I'll ramble less and let us get on with this chapter...**

* * *

"_HOW_ could you have let him _escape?_" Killbane roared at the phone, up on his feet and pacing the old drawing room turned office. The speaker on the set crackled with a response.

"_He is slippery,"_ Aiko's cold voice answered, _"And he had backup, rather unexpectedly."_

"Aiko, we can't afford screw-ups!" he snapped at the phone, whirling on it suddenly and slamming his hands down on the mahogany desk, "I've got Matt trying to track him again, you catch him and _bring him to me_."

There was a resentful silence over the line before she finally answered, _"…Yes, Killbane-sama."_

Eddie hit the end-call hard enough that he felt the small plastic button crack under his index finger. His pressed his palms hard either side of the phone, breathing heavily as he tried to get his rage under control.

"The most efficient killer in Japan?" he seethed to himself darkly, feeling his hands begin to shake with fury, "Incompetent little _shit!_"

With that his hands swept over the desk, the pens, papers, phone flying across the room and onto the floor. With a roar he was about to flip the table right over before a sharp trilling from the computer on it caught his attention.

The speakers either side of the monitor let out a soft tweet to indicate a video call, and Eddie froze, slowing his breathing and wrestling his face to be impassive before he answered. In an instant, Cyrus' weathered face filled the screen.

"_Status report,"_ he said in his sharp, guttural way. Eddie sat himself down in the plush leather seat behind the desk and managed to keep his expression deadpan, though still too agitated to manage cool and calm.

"He's coming along well, though by the looks of it has lost a few IQ points," he lied smoothly, thumb to his chin as he reclined back in his chair. On the screen, Cyrus frowned, though since his expression was almost always one of military stoicism, only deepening the crows' feet over his darkly tanned features indicated it.

"_How long till he can be sent back to America?"_

Eddie shook his head and decided to pass the buck, "Nannette isn't sure. She's working with him day and night to synthesize a new memory for him…"

Cyrus cut him off almost immediately, _"I had been hoping Gat would be up and running by now."_

"The conditioning is taking longer than we'd thought," Eddie pressed, "You don't want to run the risk of him turning on us, do you?"

"_No, but we need to make a move on the Saints soon. They've put themselves in a vulnerable position, severing their ties with Ultor-"_

Eddie's curiosity was piqued by that and he leaned forward, "They have, hm?"

"_In quite a spectacular fashion too; the Boss blew up every Planet Saints in the city to make her point,"_ Cyrus paused at this, his eyes glancing away thoughtfully for a moment, _"I tried convincing Monica Hughes they posed a terrorist threat but seeing as it was their _own_ property…"_

"I see," Eddie said, lacing his fingers under his chin, "I'll try and get some of the old crew to give the Saints some trouble, keep them busy, use up their resources. You'll get Gat soon enough."

Cyrus only nodded before terminating the call, and Eddie found himself glaring at his own reflection in the black screen. He growled, rubbing thumb and forefinger over his brow. He needed something to distract Cyrus with long enough to get Gat back, or at least confirm his death, if it came to that. He stood, stepping out of the study and into the hallway.

"Nanette!" he roared down the hall, stalking towards the central staircase, "_Nannette!_"

Nannette's small figure appeared in the foyer below him, and she gazed up at the man resentfully, one eye still blackened.

"Yes, Monsieur Pryor?" she said darkly. Eddie started sauntering slowly down the stairs to her.

"When you told us about Gat, you mentioned you had hopes of bringing him under your control?" he started and Nannette paused, before nodding.

"_Oui._ Max had been on the verge of that breakthrough when he was formulating the 'zombie' gas," she said before stitching on, "Subject Two is not a zombie though."

Eddie nodded, then gave her a long look, "What about Subject One?"

Nannette froze when Eddie mentioned him and it didn't go unnoticed. The man smirked at her, "What's wrong? When Cyrus and I first arrived you were eager to show him off to us."

Nanette ached to shoot back at him, only instead, she cautiously asked, "What is it you are wanting with him?"

Eddie brushed past her, starting for the halls that would lead to the dungeon-come-laboratory below.

"I want to know if he can be used. I want to know what you've found out about him, and what you've been _doing_ to Subject One for the year or so that you'd had him here," he growled as Nannette hurried after him, down the winding stairs, into the cool maze of cells beneath them. He halted and she nearly ran into him as he turned around, "Once I know _that_, I'll now what to do with him. It's in your best interest to co operate," he added lowly, cracking his knuckles and Nanette visibly shied, slowly walking around him.

"…This way then," she said, her flat soled shoes clacking softly on the stone floor as she lead Eddie to the cell where Subject One was kept.

"…What _is_ he anyway?" Eddie asked as they approached, "Where was he found?"

"Believe me or not, Stilwater," she said with a light shake of her head, "As to _what_ he is, that is open to speculation."

She rounded a corner into the cell, another large pod dominating the space with another male figure kept suspended inside. Once Eddie settled himself behind her gazing at the pod, she started speaking again.

"The FBI doesn't chase up as many supernatural reports as they should. Though with so many UFO and Bigfoot hoaxes it's not surprising. Still, rumours about the cannibal serial killer float around Stilwater, the rumours are chased up, and a very interesting specimen is unearthed," Nannette paused, a gentle expression melting over her aged face as she stepped up to the pod, gently placing a hand on the glass that separated her from Subject One.

"Amazing, isn't he?" she breathed, looking at the young Hispanic's half mutilated face, "Once a lieutenant of the Saints, I'm assuming a coincidence. But he has been truly invaluable to our research, the _discoveries_… the endless possibilities…"

"A Saints Lieutenant?" Killbane said, surprised as he wracked his memory, "I think I remember that. Killed by the Brotherhood, wasn't he?"

"Tortured first, poordarling," she said sadly, "Dragged behind a truck."

She let her hand fall from the glass and turned to look back at Eddie coldly.

"When he was found and identified we realised that decomposition had entirely stopped; despite having been dead for over a year, examining him anyone would have thought him to have been dead for no more than a day at most," her eyes were downcast then, "I do not know why he won't respond or move as the cadavers animated by the gas do."

"Do you think he would if he was exposed to it?" Eddie pressed quickly and Nannette blinked, a little flustered.

"I had considered it but since the gas was synthesised from hi-"

"Do you think you could bring this one under our control? Finish Max's work and make these zombies obey _us_?" he pressed, advancing on her and she instinctively shied away.

"I- I had hoped to, yes, but I had also hoped to regenerate him further!" she said, then began gushing, "You see I have discovered when exposed to specimens of living tissue, particularly from females with an O negative blood type his tissue actually begins to re-"

"I don't need him _whole_. I need to know whether or not we can rise from _Hades_ and overwhelm the Saints with a tide of undead flesh, and if we can't, if we could at least use _him_ against them," Eddie thundered, turning Nannette sharply to look back at the motionless body in the tank.

"_Nannette_," he said with a low rumbling tone that was suddenly gentle, hands still on her shoulders, "He's the king of a new species, and you've cared for him for so long. Don't you think it's time for him to rise again? He could be the key to a glorious victory against the Saints."

Nannette looked longingly at the face of the young man in the pod; he only had one eye and there was still a bullet hole through his forehead, which had only been made a little smaller by her experimenting. She _had_ wanted, for so long to see him look back at her, perhaps even speak with her… she'd managed to free her other 'son'. Why not her dearest Subject One too? Eddie's grip on her shoulders tightened to the point of causing a little pain.

"You will do this Nannette. And you will make it happen _soon_."

Nannette was quiet, wincing a little at the grip on her shoulders.

"…Yes, Monsieur Pryor," she replied.

* * *

I crashed out of my bedroom, Trouble trotting after me.

"Fuck fuck _shit_ fuck!" I hissed, hopping as I tugged my shoe on and stumbling down the stairs a little, Trouble growling after me. The problem with my sleep patterns – waking up at midday when you're supposed to be picking up your lieutenant.

"Yeah, yeah, I know just gimme a sec," I grumbled back to him as he followed me to the kitchen. I rounded the corner a little fast, suddenly slamming into something and stumbling back, nearly tripping over Trouble. The thing I had run into turned out to be Angel's torso. He's intense gaze was fixed on me and for a moment I felt a small wave of unease.

"_Shit_ Angel watch where you're going," I said quickly, striding around him to the kitchen. Trouble chuffed eagerly at me and I waved him down as I got to the pantry, quickly dragging out a hefty bag of meow-mix and ripping it open.

"… You ran into _me_," I heard Angel correct me and I only growled, not trusting myself to look at him. The events from two nights ago were still fresh in my mind. I spilled the contents of the bag into Trouble's bowl a keg that had been sawn in half and the tiger knocked me out of the way to attack his breakfast. I glanced over my shoulder; Angel was still standing there, arms crossed over his tight muscle shirt. No hoodie this time. I found myself wishing he'd covered up a little more...

"Gotta make it quick, I was supposed to pick up Shaundi ten minutes ago," I said, brushing past him back to the living room. He followed me, still and calm in my current flurry.

"I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable the other day-" he started and I groaned inwardly. Why do people always feel the need to _talk_ about this shit?

"Have you seen my keys?" I said, hunting around the bar with a frown.

"So if what I did was out of line-"

"I put them down _right here_ I swear-"

"Butcher-" he said a little sternly to get my attention. It worked.

"God _don't_ call me that," I snapped darkly, my nose crinkling. His mouth was still but his eyes were laughing at me.

"You said the announcers could call you whatever they wanted because _names aren't important_."

I snorted, snapping back into action as I hunted out my keys, "That's only cos they didn't like my suggestions."

"Well, _Lamashtu_ is a little obscure," he said and I felt myself slowing down a little.

"… Should've gone with Saint of Saints," I murmured, clicking my fingers agitatedly. At that point I spied my keys on the coffee table and hopped over the back of the couch, slamming my palm on them. Behind me Angel finally cracked.

"Will you _stop_ for a moment?" he shot and I whirled on him.

"Angel!" I snapped at him sharply, coming to a stop, "I don't… want to talk about it," I finished statically, fixing him with a stern gaze for a beat before I climbed back over the couch, strode past him, up the stairs to the elevator. I hit the button and the doors slid open with a soft _ding_. Before I left, Angel spoke up again across the divide of the cavernous room, causing me to pause and glance over my shoulder.

"Everyone understands what you're going through," he said, his tone low and even and his gaze intense and direct. I felt trapped by that gaze, not helped when he continued in that low tone.

"If you need me, I'm here."

* * *

"Yeah, I'm here, _with my dick!_" Shaundi spat furiously, "God, what a _creep_."

I smiled and shook my head slightly as I shifted gears, charging west through the city once I pulled out of the driveway. Shaundi often crashed at her ex's apartment (which she had now claimed for herself) and I couldn't blame her. Cramped though it was, it was a haven when you wanted some alone time. From the moment I greeted her I brought her up to speed with everything Angel had done since the night with Juan; she was one of those girlfriends who loved this sort of gossipy talk and I knew she would have a lot more wisdom on the subject than me. I hadn't been expecting her sudden anger though.

"Maybe he was just being a concerned friend," I offered, feeling a slight hit on my ego. I mean it wasn't so crazy that maybe he actually _liked_ me.

"Sounds like his only concern is getting his cock wet," Shaundi huffed and I cringed.

"I don't need that imagery."

"Good!" she said sharply, glaring out the window as we crossed the bridge. She'd only paused for the briefest moment, before picking up her rant again, "He should never have hit on you in the first place, that's so _fucking_ disrespectful. How are you not angry about this?" she suddenly accused and I raised my eyebrows at her, slowing the car as I took the turn around the arena.

"Sweetie, you're pissed enough for the both of us," I said, "I mean yeah it's… awkward now but I got more things to be angry about than finding out a guy likes me."

"_Likes _you?" she pressed, "Hon he's got a fucked up way of showing it."

I frowned, admittedly confused by that, "In a purely biological sense I thought that was the normal way for people to go about that stuff?"

I hadn't meant for it to sound like a question; it just came out that way. Shaundi slowly turned a suspicious, angry gaze my way.

"You're not thinking of-?"

"No! God no!" I said quickly; I wasn't about to be unfaithful, "But you know me, I never pick up on these kinds of things till they're smacking me on the mouth. I assumed you would've already known something was up with him-?"

Shaundi seemed placated by my answer and shook her head lightly, her ponytail flicking about her shoulders.

"Nuh-uh. _Never_ thought he was into you that way. God what a fucking _asshole_!" she repeated and I admittedly had to chuckle at her anger. Her arms were folded tightly over her chest and her eyes flickered as she thought, gradually calming down. For one sore moment I thought I heard her mutter something about Johnny... She turned to me eventually.

"… So what are you gonna do?"

"Go to Shaundi for advice," I said flatly, sparing her a short glance, "That's where the plan of action ended."

"Tell him you're not interested and if he touches you again you'll rip his balls off and feed them to him."

Hmn. "Okay," I consented with a shrug. A little melodramatic but I got the jist. We slipped past the worn suburban homes as we closed in on Kinzie's warehouse, and Shaundi was again glaring out to the sea thoughtfully. I hadn't expected her to continue, but sure enough, she did.

"I just think it's off that he's starting up _now_…" she said, her tone quieter, no longer furious, "And at that _exact_ moment when you're half naked and injured and y'know, _mourning_. It's a dick move suddenly going after someone when they're that…"

"Vulnerable?" I offered solemnly, frowning at the way she was putting the situation to me. I took the turn off the road when we hit the docks, slowing as I wove the car down along the warehouse.

"Exactly," she agreed, "I'm uh, I'm not _accusing_ him of anything but it's gotta be one of the oldest tricks in the book. It's a cheap move. Take it from me; I've fallen for it before. And used it on a few guys in turn but that's a whole other thing…"

I didn't reply when I pulled up out the front of the roller door, aiming the clicker at it and waiting as it slowly screeched open. I felt Shaundi nudge me ever so lightly.

"…Y'know… I think you need to watch yourself around him," she finally decided and I shot her a sharp glare.

"_Excuse_ me? You don't really think I'd go there?" I revved the engine a little too hard as I shot the car into the parking space, slamming the breaks sharply and Shaundi jolted in her seat. The roller door began to glide closed behind us and I killed the engine.

"…I got over my daddy issues a long time ago anyway," I added and her mouth curled shortly into a laugh.

"I know, but… I sense intrigue," she said carefully. I gave a short laugh.

"You're right, the man is a _cad!_"

"Listen, Angel used to run the Luchadors alongside Killbane," she said gently, shifting in her seat to face me properly, "Now he's just a lieutenant."

"He understands why-"

"And Johnny was your second in command – your _boyfriend_."

I stopped at that; not just because Shaundi had used the word _boyfriend_ (I don't know why, but that just never seemed to fit Johnny and me. Partner I think fitted better… he had been much more than a _boyfriend_). My first thought was to warn Shaundi to reconsider what she was thinking. But then, Shaundi always read between the lines and saw the things in people and relationships I seemed to be permanently blind to. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.

"…You think he was trying to use me?"

"All I'm saying is to watch yourself," Shaundi said quickly and calmly, maybe hearing something in my tone that worried her, "Besides… from what I've seen he prefers blondes."

Again, another little hit on my ego I was embarrassed to admit to. I yanked the keys from the ignition and stepped out of the low car. Kinzie's haven was really just an old warehouse at the docks, but I could see the appeal; it was roomy, ran on private generators and was well out of the way of people and noise.

Shaundi followed my lead as I climbed the short steps from the garage up into her main living area.

"Kinzie?" I called out into the hideout – her usual post in her nest of computer monitors was empty, and we began hunting through the hideout after her.

"Yeah?" She eventually called back out, and I followed her voice to the 'kitchen', or what had probably been the cafeteria or lunch room back when this warehouse was used for its intended purposes. Kinzie was leaning against the counter, tearing a hot pocket to bits and popping the small pieces into her mouth.

"Huh," I grunted, still a little surprised to see her for once without a computer screen in front of her face, "Just dropped by to see how you were coming with the Deckers."

"Oh, they're no problem," she said, waving her hand and lifting herself off the counter, walking past me and back towards her study, "I got pretty much all their operations mapped out."

"What, already?" Shaundi asked as we followed her.

"Uh huh. Here," she took another bite from her hot pocket and brought up a map on the main screen, as well as a few text windows on the others. For the most part I ignored them and just waited for her to explain everything to me.

"They're starting up with a few drug rackets and getting into business with a few small time pimps," she said, "I've got all the locations down."

I heard my own knuckles crack as I clenched my fists; drugs and hos, it was an old combination. Get the girls hooked so they don't run off, push the product on the lonely bastards they're turning tricks for.

"Deckers running drugs and whores," Shaundi sigh bitterly with a shake of her head, "that's…"

"It is," I agreed to what she never decided to say. It was _weird_. "Kinz, how quickly did you find this out?"

She looked over her shoulder to me, eyes wide behind her glasses, "Two shakes of a lamb's tail, why?"

"They weren't trying to hide their operations?" Shaundi said quickly, stepping up to glare at the computer screens. Kinzie gave a small snort and a smirk.

"Oh, they tried," she assured us, "It had Matt's stink all over it-"

"And you're _sure_ it's Matt?" I pressed. She gave me a flat look and I felt myself frown a little, so I continued, "…It just doesn't seem like him, does it? If he wanted that buried, he would have _buried _it."

Kinzie froze at that, and I could see her eyes flicker as her mind raced. Shaundi did her thinking aloud;

"The Deckers have _never_ gotten into whore running or the drug market; they were always computers, cars and munitions. After Matt piked, the few that were left just fell into hacking for a living, they disappeared from the streets," she said.

I chewed my thumbnail absently as I started to ramble my own thoughts, "Now the muscle is back out there. And _even now_ the way they're going about it doesn't seem right… these static, singular operations…"

"He's throwing sand in our eyes," Kinzie said suddenly, her own eyes widening eerily behind her glasses. Before I knew it her hands were sweeping over the controls of her consol, "That little…"

I nodded; Matt was up to something and these street-side operations were just to distract us, "Kinz, I know I'm stretching you thin already but-"

"I'm already on it Boss. I'll find him out," she said, her nose crinkling furiously and eyes blazing. Nothing like going up against your arch nemesis to bring out the fire in you.

"How long?"

"Can't say," she said sharply, "You might wanna stick around though. Hot pockets in the kitchen."

Shaundi and I exchanged glances, before turning on our heels, leaving the Hacker to her work.

* * *

Two hours and too many hotpockets later, I slouched on the plastic chair in the kitchen with a sigh.

"_Shaundiii,_ I have a food baby…" I grumbled, a hand over my stomach. I heard her chuckle.

"Don't complain about shit you brought on yourself," she warned and I sighed.

"They're addictive."

"Which is why I'm smart enough to stay away from them," she retorted, elegantly taking a swig of Saints Flow she'd liberated from the fridge. A short silence fell and she glowered at the room.

"You know, I know she's one of those bare necessities kind of people, but _come on_," she said and not for the first time. I rubbed my belly and decided not to answer – at that point Kinzie called out to us from her study.

"_I've found it!_"

I was on my feet then, hurrying from the kitchen and rounding the corner into her nest of computers. Kinzie was typing and clicking away, her attention going from monitor to monitor.

"I don't know why but he's been putting a lot of power into throwing a net over… Europe," she said, her voice rushed. One of the screens had a map with small blinking dots over it, the rest had mostly a bunch of shit I couldn't understand. Kinzie zeroed in on the map and continued.

"Belgium, to be exact. Looking for hits on public computers, search words… anything concerning the Saints… trying access – _Shit!_"

I stepped back from the screens as they all suddenly flickered, blinking to black. After a silent moment, a horrendous sound suddenly exploded out of the speakers and before I knew it we were watching some sort of CGI horse in a rainbow afro wig belting circus music and dancing on its hind legs.

"What the _fuck?_" I grumbled as Kinzie began desperately typing. The centre screen flickered again and went to black, white typing flashing up on the screen.

_We know what Curiosity did to the Cat, Agent Kensington._

Kinzie was shaking with fury, her hands flying to the consol.

_That's a cheap trick little boy, I _

"Hey!" Kinzie yelped as I pushed her out of the way and snatched the keyboard from her.

"Enough Kinz," I said, and started typing. I was slower than she was so that probably made the threat less effective, but that wasn't what was important.

_Real fuckin' funny Matt! I'd like to see you try and run a gang from behind a consol._

I spoke as I typed, "Kinz, when these computers are up and running I need a rough location on him. Rough only." I kept typing,_ I'm going street side and every one of your little Decker assholes is getting their spine fed to them. They won't get let off like you did sweetie. This city belongs to me._

I stepped back from the consol and Kinzie nodded, watching the screen for Matt's response.

"If I pinpoint him he'll run," she said over the obnoxious screaming CGI abomination.

"Which is why I want rough only till I get close enough to catch him," I said swiftly, glaring at the screen.

"Right," she said, ducking under her desk and pulling out a laptop in a silver briefcase; a little computer she'd customised for herself, "I'll try and tap in, do a loose trace on the signal."

It was a moment before the text appeared again.

_The Saint of Saints herself?_

I leant back in to the consol and started typing again. I wasn't the most educated person in the world (hah) but in a weird way, that worked for me. People like Matt, I guess even Kinzie assumed I had the intelligence of a sack of hammers. But having my enemies underestimate me is not a bad thing.

_Thats right you little British piece of shit. I let you get away, so stay the fuck out of my city. Any of your crew you dont want dead, get them out now._

I paused, and finally got a response.

_*That's, *don't_

I barely had time to swear before the screen flashed back to the dancing horse-thing.

"_Afro-circus afro-circus afro polkadot polkadot polkadot afro!_"

"Will you turn that shit off?!" I shouted and Shaundi's face scrunched into a snarl – she whipped her GDHC from her hip and fired it a few times into the speakers. Kinzie yelped at the noise then turned to glare at Shaundi, her face thunderous. The creepy clown-horse was still dancing on the screens but at least it had shut up now.

"Shaundi, see what crews you can get onto wiping out the Deckers. Don't be afraid to use a little flair," I said darkly and Shaundi smirked.

"Am I ever?" she asked and tossed her hair a little. I shook my head lightly.

"Hey Boss?" Kinzie piped up from where she sat, almost under her desk. I glanced down at her and she smiled impishly up at me from behind her glasses.

"You're not going to tell me you got a fix on him?" I asked dryly and she smirked.

"Rough only, I know, I know… the signal dropped out too soon anyway but…" she turned her computer to me, tapping a few more keys and a distant map of a city appeared. She lifted her chin proudly, "London's calling."


	12. Cats in the Cradle

__***sigh* finally got this thing up and going. As always, thanks for the encouragement, shout outs to MDGeistMD02,Technology, Lovely Rain Dancer, ShadowKnight1121, Sexysandstorm, ALL OF MY LOVELY REVIEWERS.**

**And naturally, a special thanks to Kris and Haleigh ;)**

**No thanks to my cat who kept chewing on my laptop or putting his bum in my face when I was trying to write -_-;;**

* * *

_Meanwhile, somewhere on the E17…_

The car I jacked died about a mile back. My own fault I guess for stealing such a pile of shit in the first place, but pickings were slim. The last thing I wanted was for cops to be on the lookout for the car anyway. So, there I was, wandering down a highway in the late afternoon, sticking my thumb out at traffic and trying to not think about the last time I slept.

Brussels, about lunchtime yesterday… I rubbed my eye and managed to lift my hand at a truck as it raced by. I could go ages without sleeping when I tried but when you're racing your ass all over foreign countries and trying to not get killed it's…

I yawned and stumbled a little when my knee gave out. It was still hurting like a motherfucker from where that little Jap slut got me.

"Fuckit," I mused aloud, "Things could be worse."

There was a low roll of thunder, then a slow hush that got louder as rain started spotting down on me.

"…Fatal last words," I grumbled, hunching my jacket a little higher up onto my shoulders, but felt myself smirk a bit, "And talking to yourself now… turning into the Boss more and more."

Usually I'd just jack a car and it was driving me crazy that I shouldn't. There was a chance that the one I left back up the highway had been flagged and with Killbane and that psycho Jap bitch on my tail I couldn't afford cops breathing down my neck too.

A truck raced by and a thin spray of water soaked my jeans. _Fuck_ this shit…

I kept on up the road for a while. The rain was getting heavier and even with the jacket I stole water was still runnin' down the back of my neck. I glared at the next road sign, fuzzy white and green till I got closer and even then I couldn't read it right. The name of towns I never heard of before, fat lot of good it was doing.

I heard another car going to race by and stuck my thumb out. It cruised on past. I made a mental note to always pick up hitch hikers in the rain.

Another car, another signal. It shot past and I yawned, but further up the road, heard it slowing down. I looked up –the white sedan had pulled over, hazard lights blinking. Thank _fuck_. I jogged over, my knee threatening again to give out on me; when I got to the window it scrolled down, the driver leant over to speak.

"_Bonjour, où allez-vous?_"

I could guess what he had said and I looked down the highway, "Uh, Paris. _Par-ee_."

"_Paris, oui_," he said, leaning over to push the car door open and I quickly shrugged off my near-soaked jacket and got in the car. The guy turned the heater up a little more.

"English? American?" he asked.

"'Merican."

"Ah,"

He pulled out from the curb and I rubbed my hands, putting them in front of the heater. The car was the kind that felt travelled in; radio was going, and nearly as much trash on the floor as the Boss' Hammerhead (… no car had as much trash on the floor as that car does). Someone else was in the car - I glanced into the narrow back seat and saw a kid reclined back with a tube of Pringles, mashing his thumbs over a game console. I had to smirk when I saw the kid was wearing a purple shirt and had drawn a fleur-de-lis on his jeans in black marker. But then that gave way to a annoyance… the kid couldn't have been more than eleven or twelve and he was dressing up as a Saint. He looked up to me and I quickly looked away, eyes back to the road. I guess I just didn't want to run the risk of the kid recognising me.

"Yo thanks man," I said to the driver. He gave me a nod and an easy smile. The guy looked to be about my age, shaggy brown hair, goatee and a sleeve of tattoos - actually, he reminded me of Rusty, our tattooist. Rusty with brown hair. He gave off the same vibe, easy going, friendly, generally a good guy.

"You are lost?" he asked, having to hunt out his English, "Accident?"

"Car broke down," I said, looking back to the road and he nodded.

"We are not going so far as Paris," he said, "But close enough."

I nodded and forced myself to give him a good-natured smile, "I appreciate it."

"It's not a problem," he said with a shrug, "_Que deviendrons-nous si nous ne nous soucions les uns des autres_, eh _Christian?_"

He looked up into the rear-view mirror when he said that to a kid who was sitting in the back. The kid's face was expressionless as he mashed his thumbs over a handheld game.

"_Oui papa_," he replied, glancing at me for a moment before going back to his game pausing only to quickly stuff some Pringles into his mouth.

"Christian, my son," the man said with a shrug to me, his accent was pretty thick "Trapped in virtual reality. My name is Luc,"

"Jet," I replied.

Nice people make me uncomfortable. This man was clearly a decent sort of guy, one of those shirt-off-your-back types. And as much as I appreciated the lift, I didn't want to be pulling him and the kid into any of my shit.

"You have been travelling for a long time, yes?" he said, a little slowly to make sure he was getting the words right, "You're looking tired."

There was a crackling by my ear and I glanced over my shoulder; the boy was holding out his packet of chips to me – though still has his focus on his videogame. I smiled and waved it off.

"Yo I'm fine thanks."

The kid didn't reply, just shrugged and flopped back down into his seat. Luc (Luke? I dunno) didn't press when I realized I hadn't answered him properly. I relaxed back into the seat and fought the urge not to fall asleep.

"It's been a long two days," I eventually said. Fuck… two days. Felt like a week.

"And what is bringing you to France?"

I looked to him sharply, "I'm in France?"

"Almost," he said, chuckling, "You said you were going to Paris…?"

I guess I owed him a little explanation, the guy _had_ just picked my ass up off the side of the road. I hunted for a good excuse, "I got family I gotta see. Paris is the first stop." Then to deflect the conversation, "Where are you two headed?"

"Home."

I nodded and my eyes started feeling heavy. The music over the radio was some kind of French rap, not as bad as it sounds. I guess I couldn't really talk, there was a lot of shit clogging up the waves back home. Luc nodded then said something in French. We talked for a bit but the language barrier made it tricky, so eventually we settled into an easy silence. He said something to his son and the kid replied, sounding kinda bored. I let myself stare out the window into the grey rain and after a while, let my eyes close…

I didn't even realize I fell asleep till the car was slowing and pulling up somewhere. I grunted and blinked my eyes open – it wasn't raining anymore, but it had gotten dark. We were pulling into the drive of a little roadside stop'n shop and I sat up, tiredly trying to read the road signs.

"Wha-? We stopping?" I mumbled. The kid in the back was up instantly, giving a grumble and a yawn, slipping out of the car. Luc nodded to me, shrugging after the boy.

"Children," he said flatly, "Always needing food and sleep."

"Gotcha," I replied, slipping out of the car and stretching and Luc did the same on the other side. I frowned about myself.

"Where are we?"

"Reims, or just outside of it," he said as he got out of the car on the other side, stretching out, "If you are wanting to go to Paris, this is the closest we can take you, from here we are going to Marseille. We tried telling you when we were crossing the border but you were dead to the world."

I nodded as we stepped into the shop and I pulled a few Euros from my pocket.

"Uh, okay… question, where exactly is _Reims_?" I asked, going to one of the fridges and pulling out one of those ready-made sandwiches.

Luc paused and looked up to me, a little confused but he was grinning. With a shake of his head he reached into his pocket, pulling out his iPhone.

"Here," he said, bringing up a map and walking over to me as Christian discovered the Saints Flow in the fridge and began pulling out can after can. Luc held the phone out and showed me the map over it. "You're here. If you take the E50, it will bring you right into the heart of _Paris_. There is also a train."

"_Papa, que l'homme ressemble à Johnny Gat!_"

I looked up sharply at my name; the kid was pointing at me, his other arm holding three cans of Saints Flow and a few packet sandwiches to his chest. Luc tapped him loosely on the arm and looked to me apologetically.

"Excuse Christian," he said with a sigh, "He is insisting you look like one of these American criminal celebrities."

I winked at the kid and tried to hold back my smirk, "We all look alike."

"You have same _tatouages_. _Johnny Gat n'a pas de cicatrice sur son visage si.-_"

The kid kept talking in French after that but he had a very matter of fact attitude. Luc gave me a hopeless shrug and I smiled at the kid.

"He _was_ pretty fuckin awesome," I agreed as I paid for my food and Christian looked at me a little confused, I guess not understanding me totally. I glanced at the phone and back to Luc.

"Yo you mind if I borrow this for a sec?" I asked. Again, nice guy. Didn't want to mess with him. Luc nodded briefly, he was distracted with his kid, I guess telling the boy to go and put back all the cans of drink.

I brought up a map first to figure out where I was, the cities looked to be a stones throw from each other. I could steal a car or motorbike from here, get to the CBD and jump a train like Stanislav said.

I paused when I thought back to him. Him and Stroika, the Russian dominatrix who looked like the Boss with freckles. I decided the first thing I'd do when I got back was contact him and find out if they were okay.

I tried then thinking of numbers I could call that they still might be using – hard to remember, anyone I ever called was stored in my phone or on speed dial. Still, I knew a few numbers and started trying them, just on the off chance. The landline to one of the cribs back in Stilwater. A few of the Boss' old phone numbers – all disconnected but you never know what she's keeping tabs on. The last number I tried made me smile – it went to voicemail.

"_This number doesn't work anymore fucktard so don't try calling again."_

I remembered why she changed that number – her first ever stalker. She was going to let the poor bastard slide till she found him dumpster diving for… toenail clippings or whatever it is stalkers collect and shot him.

Eventually I gave up on trying to call and searched instead for train times out of Paris; there was one that ran right through the night and got you to Madrid by sun up but no way I'd make that one by tonight. There was another one that left around about 8:30 in the morning, took a little under fourteen hours… fourteen hours stuck on a fucking train, kill me now…

I was gonna turn the thing off when I remembered something and pulled the crumpled sheet of paper from my pocket. The number Stan had scrawled down on the bottom of the paper next to the name _Caesar_ was a bit smudged but I could still read it. No idea who that guy was supposed to be or what to call him for. Still, my thumb itched and I was about to dial the number-

"Christian! _Dépêchez-vous, nous devons aller_."

I looked up from the phone, seeing Luc approaching and I made myself smile, handing the phone out to him.

"Yo, thanks for the ride man," I said, then dug my hand into my pocket, pulling out about forty Euros and held it out to him, "Here."

"Non, it's fine," he said, waving it off and I had to hold back a snarl.

"C'mon don't do the pussy-foot cheque dance, I hate that shit," I said. I owed this guy and I didn't like owing anyone, "Karma might be slow catching up to you anyway."

Luc hadn't fully understood my but he got the jist, chuckling and resigned as he took the notes.

"…All right. Thankyou friend," he said, giving me a short wave as I left and I gave him a good natured salute. As I turned I heard him lazily call out after me:

"Good luck getting back to your family."

* * *

Aiko rested her small frame on the back seat of the car, her stockinged feet up to walk over the ceiling. Travel had always bored her and she didn't do well being cooped up. She dropped her feet back down heavily and rolled over, snuggling her face into the yellow and black bicker jacket she'd laid on the seat under her. She breathed deeply; any human scent that was once there was gone, leaving only the soft smell of leather, oil and a little incense. After a moment she slipped a thin, toned arm through the sleeve, lifting the heavy fabric to look at the bloodstains, now brown with age. She ran steely little fingers over them longingly, a dull, lonely ache niggling in her stomach.

"_Shi no tame no ketsueki,_" she muttered gently to herself. A gentle trill from the front of the car broke her peace – the driver quickly answered the phone.

"_Mosh'moshi…?_" The woman answered and after a beat held the phone over to the back seat without taking her eyes from the road. Aiko's eyes flickered up and she quickly snatched the phone.

"_Hai?_" she answered quickly. There was a melodic chuckle on the other line.

"_You're going to _love_ me_ _poppit,_" Matt Miller's playful voice answered, "_Got a fix on a cell phone nearby that was calling some of the Saints old numbers I flagged. I'm sending the coordinates through._"

* * *

_Fuck_ Paris.

Stupidest fucking city in the world. Tourists _everywhere,_ most of them looked like couples on their honeymoons. And the shop keepers are rude fuckers, it's like they're _asking_ to be robbed. Got some advice from some Australian tourist who said you need to say hello to the shop keeper, ask them how they are, then apologise for not speaking French before you touch anything.

Seriously, what the fuck? What's more, I don't care if the people here could speak goddamn English cos I was that fucking sick of French accents. They all sound like that _ermahgerd_ girl now. Go into a bakery, '_Ser, werd yer lerk er cwer-sernt?_' Fuck me, this is _not_ a city to be alone in.

And the Eiffel tower? Looks like an abandoned oil rig someone put Christmas lights on. All this crap people go _on_ and _on_ about – I know the Boss always wanted to go to the Louvre, cos she's pretty arty n'shit. But there's this _huge_ line up to the place and everyone's creaming themselves over a coupl'a pictures that when you think about it are just overrated.

I figured all this cos when I hit the place I had a few hours to kill before my train left for Madrid. Stupidly in those few hours I decided to find a cheap room above a bar and wound up sleeping till noon the next day, meaning I'd have to wait till that night before I could get a ride out to Madrid. _If_ I could get a train ride. I was flat out of money. Which left me wandering the streets, and fucking _hating_ the place.

_Fuck. Paris._

...I know, I know, I should have been at least trying to enjoy the experience. Hell, first time in France. Guess I just never thought I'd be here alone – I'd have the gang here, raising some hell, hitting up the Moulin Rouge.

It felt weird, having gone two days without talking to her… not just that, but without being _able_ to. I just wanted to get home, and getting on that train to Madrid was the next step.

* * *

Patience... I've never been good with that. I slouched against the rough brick wall in the narrow alley, keeping still, waiting. a voice a little further up got my attention, high-heels clacking, and a target came in view.

She looked wealthy enough. Nice dress, expensive shoes. She'd slipped out of a bar and slightly down into the alleyway to avoid the noise, arguing to someone on her phone, a smoke in her other hand and her purse tucked under her arm. She hadn't noticed me yet.

"_Ouais? Rentrez chez vous et obtenir votre femme à sucer la bite alors!_" she spat into the phone and I silently slipped up behind her; the alley was narrow and crooked so even in the late afternoon, it had enough shadow. I pressed the cold muzzle of the gun against the back of her neck and she suddenly froze.

"Sac à main," I growled, hoping I was pronouncing it right. She gave a frightened squeak and I pressed the gun on her a little harder. She shifted her arm and the purse dropped.

"Marcher," I said lowly and she nodded, quickly moving away, already bursting into frightened tears. Been a while since I mugged someone, good to see I hadn't lost my touch. I picked up the purse and began jogging in the opposite direction down the dark alley, sticking the gun back into my waistband and going quickly through the contents of the purse. Some credit cards, makeup, and thankfully about two hundred Euros, cold cash.

I took the money and dumped the bag in a dumpster. Two hundo… enough to get me to the next city, far from enough to get me home. I got myself lost on a crowded street lined with cafes and pulled that sheet of paper from my pocket again, checking over the numbers. I needed a job, a connection. My eyes dropped down the short list again to the name, _Caesar_.

I slowed, looking up and started looking for a payphone, hunting through my pockets for loose change when I finally came across one about a block further down. I had no idea how much an international call might cost so I just started dropping coins into the phone, dialed the number and waited. It nearly rang out before I finally got an answer.

"_Ciao?_"

"Hey," I said quickly, not too sure about how to go on, "I was given this number, I'm uh, supposed to talk to Caesar."

There was a long pause and a heavy sigh on the other line.

"_Sai parlare Italiano?_"

"Huh? Uh, no, English," I said with a cringe, hoping I got it right. Another annoyed sound on the line.

"_Idiota… Un momento._"

"Yo asshole don't think I don't know what _idiota_ m-"

There was a rustling as the phone changed hands, "_How did you get this number?_"

A different voice now, male, but had that bouncing lilt of an Italian accent. I snarled down the line.

"… Stanislav Volkov," I said darkly, "He was bleeding out of a gunshot in the chest and still saw a good enough reason to give me this number to call."

"… _Volkov?_" the voice repeated tentatively and I leant against the phone box.

"That's the man."

"_I was told from an associate of his I could be expecting a call from a particular mercenary…_" the voice drawled, "_What are you wanting?_"

I felt myself shift and I glanced around, force of habit, "I need to get to America. Or close as you can get me. A plane to Cuba might be enough," I said quickly and there was as derisive snort on the other end.

"_This is not a travel agency._"

"I'm aware of that," I growled, trying not to sound snide, "I'm also aware this aint gonna come cheap. But you should let that Caesar guy know, any job he wants done I'll take care of it if it means getting on that god damn plane."

There was a long pause before the guy started speaking again, "… _One moment… oh and word to the wise, do not blaspheme around Roman Catholics._"

"I'll keep it in fuckin' mind."

There was another long wait, long enough I dropped a few more coins into the payphone just to be sure. After a moment, the phone was picked up again, a fuckin' third person this time. His English sounded much clearer though, and he sounded a little older. I realised I must've been talking to 'Caesar'.

"_So, you are Stanislav's friend?_" he drawled dryly, and a slight puffing sound on his end made me think he was smoking a cigar.

"Yep."

"_Been a long time since I've heard from that man. He retired to run a brothel in Amsterdam I hear?_"

"You know him well?" I offered curiously.

"_Twenty years ago he became an enforcer for the Russian mafia and stayed there for some time._" He said, matter-of-factly,"_You don't stay alive long in the game if you don't know the key players. Which is one concern I have about you._"

Here we go. "Call me J if you want," I said easily, "Can't give out much more than that at the moment but I was hoping Stan vouching for me would'a been enough."

There was a low chuckle over the line, "… _I've been informed you may be heading to Spain, yes?_"

"Yeah, I was gonna shoot through to Madrid," I said casually, "Less you got a good job for me elsewhere?"

"_I may have a project for a man of your talents, if you are as good as Volkov claims,_" he said thoughtfully. I made myself stay quiet and he continued,"_Go to Madrid, and go to the Hotel Emperador, ask to speak to Porcha regarding the silk for the new Spring line_."

I hoped to God that was code for something.

"Just like that?"

Another low chuckle, and a soft puffing sound before he responded, "_Favours and unpaid debts are the currency of this business, Mr 'Jay'. Volkov and I have history and I'm glad to finally sever those ties. Go and meet with Porcha._"

And the line was dead.

* * *

Luc tucked a bag of takeaway under his arm and awkwardly pressed open the door of the roadside motel open. He was exhausted after the endless of driving and Christian had become restless, so even though they were almost home, they decided to stay for the night in Reims. When he edged the door open he'd half been expecting the TV going at least, but it was silent inside and dimly lit from the bedside table lamp.

"Christian?" he voiced softly, wondering if his boy had already gone to sleep. There was a strange muffled cry and the moment he stepped into the room, something hard hit him on the back of the head. He stumbled forward to the ground, seeing then his son on the floor between the two single beds, hog-tied and tape covering his mouth, his eyes wide and terrified, cheeks stained with tears. The man snarled, still dizzy but swung a hit blindly towards the intruder, swearing viciously in French. It was a small Asian woman, dressed in a housekeeping outfit and carrying a gun she used to pistol whip him again, cocking it and aiming it at his head. It gave him enough time to pause, and in that second she turned her aim to the little boy, her gaze coldly on Luc.

"_Stop, get that gun away from him!_" Luc shouted quickly in French, hands shaking with anger, shock and confusion, head still whirling from being struck. The woman narrowed her eyes at him.

"Do not move or scream, or I will shoot him," she warned, and Luc gritted his teeth, forcing himself to be still. He looked to her imploringly.

"_Just, leave him out of this. Whatever you want, just leave him alone, point the gun at me,_" he said, slowly showing her his palms. Aiko Akuji's aim didn't waiver however.

"My French is very bad," she said in her soft, lyrical voice, "Can you speak English?"

Luc carefully nodded, his mind racing as he tried to think of a way to disable the woman. He felt a thin river of blood run down the back of his neck from his hair where she'd hit him. At his nod, Aiko continued.

"…Your phone was used to try and contact some numbers… of some very dangerous people. Why would that be?"

"I don't know, I haven't called-"

"Do not lie. Your son's life depends on you telling me the truth," she said sharply and Luc swallowed carefully, then nodded again. For a moment the only sound in the room were the quick hushed breaths of Christian – though still scared, he'd stopped crying now Luc was back. The boy shifted against his bindings and Luc looked back to Aiko. He had to comply, he knew.

"_I_ didn't make any calls," he said, just as the idea struck him and he felt a little sick, "Wait, is this because of that man?"

"Man?" Aiko said sharply, her attention caught. For the slightest moment he saw her aim drop away slightly from the child and Luc nodded, quick to try and keep her distracted.

"He was an American, Asian, he was a hitchhiker-"

"Where did you last see him?" Aiko said quickly, her eyes wide.

"A diner outside of Reims," Luc said, the concern for his child overwhelming any guilt he might've felt at selling out the relative stranger, "I let him use the phone."

"Did he say where he was going?" Aiko pressed, her eyes sparkling. Luc wracked his brain.

"Paris, that's all. I didn't ask him anything else," he said and Aiko's excitement vanished, her aim focusing again on the child. Luc went to lunge at her but stopped himself, his voice rising angrily instead.

"Take the gun away from him! That's all he told me, that he was going to find family and Paris was his first stop!"

"Not what he planned to do after?" She pressed threateningly.

"No."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, absolutely," Luc said, trying to keep his voice low and even, if only to keep Christian calm, "He didn't want to talk so I didn't pry."

"… I see," Aiko said softly after a pensive moment, "You have been most helpful."

Her hand moved in a flash, and the silencer turned the gunshot into a whisper. The bullet slammed between Luc's eyes, crimson splattered behind him and his body crumpled to the ground. The young boy looked on, trying to scream over the duct tape that covered half his face. His whole body convulsed with terrified sobs as he wrestled against his restraints, trying to get away. Aiko slowly turned to look down at him, her soft, plump mouth impassive.

"I am sorry," she said lowly, her dark eyes softening at the crying child, "But there can be no witnesses."

Christian's eyes widened, the fear choking any last scream that tried to escape his tiny body as the woman raised the gun to his face, and pulled the trigger.

Aiko stood in silence in the room for a while, then gave a small sigh, whistling a tune lowly as she stepped out around the bodies, before eventually singing softly.

"_Toh neko wa kurēdoru to gin no supūn..._"

* * *

**...Little boy blue and the man in the moon**

**Hope it was worth the wait!**


	13. Anarchy in the UK

**Comparatively short, but I had a lot of fun writing this one!**

* * *

"Okay, its five pounds of kibble in the morning, make sure he's walked twice a day," I called over my shoulder as Shaundi and I strode over the tarmac. The crew were following to see us off, Pierce, Oleg, Angel, even Zimos had made an appearance. Kinzie was of course still holed up in her Haven, trying to as subtly as she could close in on Matt Miller. She knew she shouldn't even attempt to pinpoint him _at least_ till Shaundi and I touched down at Heathrow. I paused as we neared the waiting jet and turned, looking up to Oleg.

"He likes the park, just make sure you go during school hours so the kids aren't there to bug him. Cos then you have to threaten them and their parents get all pissy and start calling the cops it's…" I said feeling a little exasperated just thinking about it, "It's just a hassle. Oh, and there's a lamb leg in the freezer, you can give that to him Saturday morning."

"Is not being problem," Oleg said with a confident nod. Surprisingly, he'd always liked pet-sitting Trouble. I figure it's because he'd go all 'of mice and men' on any standard cat and a Siberian tiger is probably the only animal that could withstand his affection.

"Call us when you touch down," Pierce said, holding out a fist and I knocked my knuckles against his.

"Will do."

He and Shaundi pulled into one of those awkward, one-armed ass-out hugs and she pecked him on the cheek. 'Just friends' they'd said. I mean I know they've knocked boots at least once since they've known each other but both are _adamant_ they're 'just friends'. Whatever.

I was about to start climbing the short steps into the jet when Shaundi cleared her voice behind me.

"One thing Boss-" She said loudly, "Who's in charge while you're gone?"

And just like that I was suddenly aware of how many eyes were on me. Expectant, curious, waiting. I'd never considered appointing someone as my second because… well. It wasn't right to. Looking to the crew now I could see it had sort of been a mistake; I had to do what was best for them.

Angel was near the back of the group, watching me with confidence and his gaze was trusting. Pierce's expression was harder and a little less direct. When I looked to Shaundi she had a very pointed gaze and I realised with some annoyance she'd deliberately put me on the spot, the bitch. The words felt heavier than they sounded when I made my decision.

"…Pierce is in charge till I get back," I said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. The mood in the air shifted in an instant; Shaundi beamed and Angel blinked back an incredulous look; for a moment I thought he was going to say something but I hitched my bag up higher onto my shoulder and without another word, climbed the steps into the Snipes57.

* * *

Matt snored softly into his pillow, his lank and unwashed hair flopping down over closed eyes. It was a shallow sleep, and the sudden loud beeping from his computer caused him to jolt awake, grumbling and rubbing an eye. A sudden thrill of fear ran through his blood when he recognised the sound and saw the red light on top of the console flashing along with the alarm.

"Oh bugger me-"

Matt dove out of bed, stumbling and tripping over the clutter on the floor of his studio flat as he began desperately pulling on whatever clothes his hands landed on, hopping over to the console while pulling faded black pants over skinny legs. The keys clacked as he began to type, freezing when the warning appeared on the screen. He'd been pegged.

"Agent bloody Kensington…" he hissed, gritting his teeth. She'd found him. Why, he didn't like to speculate; he knew he'd made a deal with the Saints leader but that woman wasn't exactly known for being _stable_. And after antagonising them… he was certain now they would be coming after him.

Matt sprung into action instantly, ripping out external hard drives and cramming them into a duffle. He patted down a sewn in pouch and pulled out a small device stuck to a thin lump of plastic explosives, arming the fail-safe detonator and cramming it back into the bag with a nervous cringe. He gave a low, unhappy breath, then got to the closet. He pulled down a black backpack, heavy with the weight of a small laptop and supplies; cash, passport, change of clothes and a gun. He frowned down at the pack, then back to his computers, feeling sick inside when he knew what he had to do next. Striding over to the half-circle of monitors, he slumped into the chair, pulled on a headset and rested his hands over the keyboard he paused before he began typing and a few moments later a warning appeared on the screen.

_Initiate self destruct. Please provide voice identification and password._

Matt lifted a hand to his headset, clicking the microphone on. He hesitated for a moment, staring at the screen, before eventually speaking.

"Matt Miller. Password, Mendax."

There was a beeping. Text appeared on the screen again.

_Verified. Self destruct initiated. Sixty seconds to abort._

Matt waited, feeling pained as he watched the countdown. At the thirty second mark the monitors began flashing, blinking out to black and the hard drive made an angry whine. He felt like he was holding a pillow over his grandmothers mouth, watching the computer die, taking his secrets with it. But he couldn't afford anyone, least of all the Saints getting their hands on that information.

There was a slight _puff_ and the scent of smoke as the last central monitor flashed to black, the whining suddenly reaching it's pinnacle and slowly dying down, fading away. He sighed sadly at his translucent reflection in the screen, before rallying enough to pick himself up, clipping the small duffle onto the backpack then swinging the pack on, fastening the clasps over his chest. He was about to stride over to the door but slowed, noticing something on the small TV screen on the wall. Security footage from outside his apartment block…

A custom purple Kenshin had pulled up to the curb, and a two female figures in black and purple biker leathers was getting off it. And striding far too quickly to the front door. Matt stumbled back from the door, horrified, and quickly turned to race to the small blacked-out window, grunting as he lifted it open and years of paint scraped off either side. He stuck his head and shoulders out, a small noise escaping him when he saw the three story drop into the narrow, crooked alley below. He twisted his torso around to face up and began wriggling out of the window.

* * *

"So are we killing this kid right away?" Shaundi asked as we climbed the narrow staircase.

"… I haven't decided yet so I guess not," I grumbled, "He's gotta have some information. And I am _looking forward_ to wringing it out of his pasty fuckin' hide."

I rounded up another flight of stairs to the landing at the top, a tiny space sitting right in front of his door. I didn't even slow as I lifted my foot and kicked the flimsy thing off it's hinges.

It was some cramped attic apartment and stank like… like teenage boy. Sorry but there's not really another way to describe it… like old people smell, only it's teenage boy smell. _Urgh_.

And the place was a fucking sty. But most infuriating, it looked like Matt had already bolted. I clicked the communicator on in my helmet and waited a few seconds while it connected through to Kinz, meanwhile Shaundi pulled her helmet off and began searching the apartment, swearing when she inspected the computers.

"He's fried them," she said with a sigh as she tried to turn them on then lazily kicking one of the computers.

The phone in my helmet trilled when I was put through to Kinz.

"_Yes Boss?_"

"He's gone," I said instantly, looking about the room. Only one door, one way out.

"_Dammit… I've been watching the traffic cams he didn't go street side…_"

The moment she said that I saw the window – it was blacked out but left open.

"Sonofa…" I strode over the mess to the window, looking out and glaring down into the alley. I flicked up the visor and searched the walls – there was a thick rusted pipe next to the window.

"Boss?" Shaundi asked, coming up behind me. I began wriggling my torso through the window, grunting as I yanked my hips through – I clearly wasn't as skinny as Matt.

"He's not on the streets, see if you can get up to the roof from the inside," I said with a grunt as I reached out for the pipe.

"I'm on it," Shaundi said and I heard her hurrying through the flat. I felt my nose crinkle with concentration as I gripped the pipe tightly, starting to shimmy my way up. It creaked and groaned under me and I could only hope it held till I finally managed to reach the top, pulling myself up onto the shingled roof to glare out over the London rooftops.

Through the black stovepipes, wisps of smoke and red brick, I spotted him. Teetering and hopping his way over the rooftops. I snarled and leapt forward into a sprint.

The crooked, cramped roofs of the houses zigzagged up and down, and as I gained speed I began just jumping the gaps, hooking a hand out around a copper chimney pipe and swinging out onto the next rooftop, taking wide strides as I landed.

I could see Matt about a sixty yards ahead of me, arms out as he carefully slipped over the rooftops. Behind me I could faintly hear Shaundi shouting after me over the noise of the traffic below but I blocked it out, sprinting after Matt, jumping and hopping over the rooves. He was slower and much more deliberate.

I realised then why he was being so careful; a shingle slipped loose under my foot and I crashed down, tumbling for a few seconds before I managed to right myself. I was sliding down the side of the roof as more of the thin old tiles came loose, and I swore and dug my boots in, seeing the edge come rushing up with no chance of me stopping in time.

I gritted my teeth, getting my head down and pushing my legs hard as I could when my feet his the rusted old gutter and followed through with whatever momentum I had. I leapt from the building, hanging in the air above the alleyway. It was too far to land feet first – I stretched my arms, gripping the ledge and landing catlike on the wall, springing back up and over onto the roof, rolling onto my feet.

No time to stop. I could see Matt ahead, scrambling over the shingled roofs as he came to a wall of a neighbouring building and he jumped, slowly scrambling up onto the next rooftop.

I pressed my legs harder, a ready palm out to frog-leap over a short wall, not willing to let myself be slowed. My lungs and legs were starting to burn, but when I closed in on the wall I pushed harder, head down and I jumped, running up it and heaving myself up lithely over the top. For a moment I'd lost sight of him; I sprinted past skylights to the edge of the roof and looked down, seeing he'd veered sharply to the right. My feet twisted as I turned, sprinting above him and jumping another small gap between the buildings.

He was running on the roof parallel and just below me. I had an odd feeling of déjà vu the second I ran at the ledge and leapt, falling down, my feet out. Matt saw my shadow and swore shrilly when he looked up to see me.

He cried out when I landed on him, gripping his body and rolling a few times with the momentum. I'd be sore as shit tomorrow, but for now, I had the little bastard. He struggled beneath me but wrestling a kitten would have been a bigger challenge. I was huffing for air, my lungs feeling like they were in a vice grip.

'_I have to quit smoking_' I thought with a cringe. Even as I had Matt pinned beneath me I gasped, trying to get some air into my system before I could even start talking.

"Little… piece of shit," I huffed; I was straddled over his chest and held him by the lapels of his jacket. He gripped my wrists and wrestled feebly against me but the kid clearly had no upper body strength.

"Please!" he yelped, grabbing at my hands, "Oh God please don't! We had a deal!"

"And you broke that deal, you started operating in Steelport again," I snarled, my grip tightening and I pulled him up closer, glaring at him, "I should have killed you when I had the chance."

"But, y-you didn't!" he squeaked imploringly, hopefully. His grip tightened on my wrists and I wrestled, pulling my arms free and smacking him hard in the mouth, grabbing his wrists and pinning them down hard either side of this head.

"Not my first mistake," I purred darkly. Matt's eyes flickered as he tried to think of a way out.

"I can get you whatever y-"

"You have nothing that I want."

He jolted sharply beneath me, eyes going wide, "I can give you Johnny Gat!"

I froze, my mind going hazy. The next thing I remember Shaundi's hands were on my shoulders trying to pull me back, and Matt was croaking in gurgling for some reason… my palms were clamped down over his throat.

"Don't you _fucking say his name!_" I was shouting, my voice like thunder, "DON'T YOU EVEN _FUCKING-_"

Matt's eyes were watery and red, his cheeks and lips flushing as his circulation was cutting off. He choked and gasped over my grip, barley gasping for air and words when Shaundi managed to pull my hands back for a moment.

"I-it's th'truth…" he croaked and the black, suffocating fury swamped me again, my fingers curling tightly over his skin.

"Boss!" Shaundi was grunting, hands over mine as she wrestled against me, "Boss stop!"

"GET OFF!" I roared at her, letting go of Matt only just long enough to throw her off me. Shaundi gave a grunt as she tumbled backwards. The moment I turned back to Matt I smacked him over the mouth again, then gripped his skull with both hands, my thumbs inching towards his eyes.

"Don't think I don't remember you little piece of pom _shit!_" I hissed. My mind was falling back into the virtual reality, the white text tumbling down in front of my eyes, "_How could I let him die,_ uh? _Here lies Johnny Gat-_"

"Boss we might need him!" Shaundi yelled at me, but wasn't about to grab me now, "We need to know what he was doing!"

"Kinzie can work it out!" I shouted, my thumbs slowly inching over Matt's face and pressing down on his eyes. He started howling as I pressed down harder. Shaundi's hands were on my wrists again and I snarled up at her. Her eyes were hard and just as furious as mine, but I saw reason in them.

"Boss," she said steadily, "There's _plenty_ of time to kill him."

I tried to slow my breathing, the veil of fury slowly lifting from my eyes. Matt gave a broken cry when I lifted my hands from his face. After a moment I rose to my feet, still standing over him. He was gasping for air through his crushed neck, dragging himself along the concrete to try and get away.

"I-I'm not lying…" he croaked. I looked to Shaundi who was staring at Matt; her eyes were wild with thought.

"You said," she started, her own breathing still a little laboured, "You said you could _give_ us Johnny. What did you mean? You know where his body is?"

I swallowed a sudden lump in my throat and looked back down at Matt; he had crawled a few paces now, propping himself up against a chimney. He looked from me to Shaundi, a hand still gingerly rubbing his throat.

"Not exactly…"

"Then _what?_" I snapped quickly. Matt's hands shook and I could tell he was wrestling with himself.

"…There is no body. Because he's not dead. Killbane hired me to find him," he said. I felt Shaundi's reaction but we were both silent. My mind felt cavernous; I didn't know what to think. Habit and experience told me it was a lie but then, he was saying something that until a week ago, I'd been telling myself. Matt continued in our silence.

"I only found out… barely a week ago. That's what I've been doing. Hunting for him."

Shaundi and I moved at once; again I grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket and yanked him up, slamming him back against the chimney. I realised my hands were shaking, and my heart beat so suddenly hard I swore it might've broken out of my rib cage.

"You better start explaining _everything_," I hissed. There was the slight clacking of a gun being pulled from it's holster, and Mat whimpered when Shaundi pressed the muzzle of her Shepherd had against his crotch.

"And if I find out you're lying," Shaundi said lowly, "The Boss killing your ass is going to be the _least _of your God damn worries."


	14. Murder on the European Express

**Oh dear god it's finally done. O_O This was one of those chapters where you get all geared up, you've got your red bull four pack, a day off and you sit down in front of your computer, crack your knuckles...**

**And stare at a blank document for two hours.**

**On the up side I got other chunks from other chapters done.**

* * *

The driver trembled, a strangled broken whimper croaking from his throat at the boot that was pressed up against his windpipe. They had barely reached Madrid when the two girls had broken in; one tall, Eurasian, had bleached her hair as blonde as she could manage and was currently holding him to the wall with her foot. The other was a small Japanese woman, or girl, he couldn't be sure since her features were so cherubic. The little one looked up to her friend, clearly the authority in the situation.

"_Kare o korosu. Īe shōnin'n._"

The blonde nodded and jabbed her foot sharply, twisting it and crushing the man's neck, making a small _pop_ as the vertebrae twisted. The driver gave one last death rattle as his body crumpled down, and the blonde took the drivers seat of the train. Aiko turned to her second in command, speaking in their native tongue.

"_Are Annie and Kaname in place?_" she asked, glaring through the glass as the train continued to shoot through the night.

"_Yes,_" The blonde – Shizuka – replied dutifully,"_Gat should be in the last carriage, only a few other passengers, but you won't be disturbed_."

"_Cameras?_" Aiko asked shortly. Shizuka nodded.

"_Dining cart and first class, but they can't be disabled from here._"

Aiko sighed, crossing her arms over her chest, "_Open the door would you?_"

Shizuka gave one wide-eyed look to her leader, the closest she could afford to come to insubordination. She nodded after a moment and Aiko slipped out as the door to outside of the train hissed open, the loud rushing of wind and clattering of wheels over tracks invading the air. Shizuka's mouth pulled into a worried frown as the little woman braced herself, searching for something to grip onto as she leant out the side of the train and started climbing on the roof of it, hunching her shoulders against the battering wind.

* * *

When I was a kid I slept on the El more than once, favourite being the 1-2 am'er that did the city circuit. Not a homeless thing, just, y'know, you're out till hell knows when and you're tired….

This train was a little more comfortable, but the two German backpackers in the same compartment never shut the fuck up. So I stayed up at the bar for as long as I could, lasted till about one am before it closed. Since then I wandered back to my 'compartment' and had been lying on my bunk, not sleeping. The two Germans had finally dozed off at least.

It might have been the sound of the train or the narrow bunk that wasn't quite long enough, but I got to thinking about the old days… I don't know if the bed reminded me of a prison cell or not. It must have, a little. Those years in lockup I'd lay back on a cramped bunk like this one and just think about being back out in Stilwater. Or Eesh… thinking about Eesh was always a retreat when I was in jail. I'd be hoping she was okay, wanting her to go on with her life (for her sakes) but really hoping she wouldn't (for mine).

Or the Boss; burnt, bandaged and comatose in the infirmary. Always wondering if that was the night someone got to her or the day they'd decide to pull the plug, or if I should have tried to do something the last time I was shivved and lying a few beds over.

I rubbed my eyes hard, snapping my mind out of it. I had better memories than that shit, and I hunted them out. _Being kids on the Row, eating Laura's hash brownies, going out tagging and fighting._

First time Li- _the Boss_… and I hooked up. I mean the fucking was _great_ but it was more than that, it was one of the craziest, fuckin'…_ perfect_ nights. Just a single blur of good shit. I felt myself smiling and realised I was humming _Tonight Tonight_ under my breath... the song that'd been playing. I wasn't a huge Smashing Pumpkins fan but whenever I heard them now it made me think of her.

Laying in that cramped bunk made it kinda obvious she wasn't there. We'd often crashed in the same bed even before we started screwing around but over the years I was so used to someone else lying next to me when I slept.

_Sleep… c'mon…_

Nope.

Then I heard this... _thunk_. It was a weird sound from the roof, then what I thought was a door opening but I didn't know if it was half-sleep dreams or not. Another thunk and I shifted; it was instinct, something in my blood telling me something was wrong.

No idea what the time was… four am? I wasn't sleeping anyway, so I grabbed the gun stuffed in the cheap backpack (that I crammed with newspapers to look at least a little like weighted luggage) and slunk down off the bunk, edging out into the hallway. It was empty and dark, nothing that I could see. I moved down the hallway, listening carefully even as I reached the end and trying to tell myself it was instinct and not paranoia that was getting to me. With a grunt I holstered my gun back into my belt. It was a dark night out, no hints at the sun coming up yet.

I did a double take at something from the corner of my eye, a spot on the ground. A shining red dot, blood. I got that chill up my spine again, that feeling I'd gotten a thousand times before. The little puddle was seeping out from under the door of the guards' compartment. I was certain what was going to be in there when I jimmied the door open but when I slid it across, no bodies. I narrowed my eyes around the small room, trying to see properly. Signs of a struggle, a palm-print blood swipe on the door frame; early in my days I'd cleaned up enough crime scenes to read them. The guards' door hadn't been forced open but he'd been attacked with a blade, explaining the cuts on his hands that would have left the marks. I stepped further into the guards' compartment; there was another blood swipe on the door to the outside; he'd been dragged, possibly thrown out. It wasn't hard to piece it together.

"Mother f-"

I didn't even hear her.

Where she'd been hiding I couldn't tell but she landed a solid kick, two feet into my back and slammed me forward onto the floor against the train door. I drew my gun and turned to shoot her but she charged me, ducking under my aim. The gun went off, slamming a hole in the ceiling and she tried to wrestle the gun from me – she rammed a knee up into my gut (got the feeling she was aiming lower, _close one_) and I knew she got me in the solaplexus, one side of my body seizing up and stopping me from breathing just as she crammed a knuckle hard down onto that pressure point on my wrist, sending a spasm right up my arm and the gun toppled from my hand. I lurched my head forward and cracked it down onto her nose; she shrieked at me in that god-awful high pitch as the blood splattered over her face.

Both of us were gasping for air at that point, but she was faster than me, reaching quickly over my head and pulling the door open, the sudden noise and cold wind shocking my system back into action.

I took one step back too far, the cold air suddenly on my back and she gave a screeching battle cry and lunged a kick at me; I only had a second to think, grabbing the door frame, and swinging out into the cold.

The wind hit me like a tidal wave. Inside, I could just make out sudden voices.

"_Was war das? Wer ist da?_"

There was a muffled _phtew_ as a gun went off through a silencer and one of the guys started shouting – the sound of a tussle and a body suddenly flew out of the train door, then another; might have been the backpackers, I couldn't tell for sure.

Then the bitch herself swung out, gun in hand.

Her eyes were tearing and covered in blood though, so her aim was out. I climbed up over the slick metal to get out of the range of that gun and draw her out. Little bitch didn't disappoint.

As I rolled up onto the roof of the train another blast of air knocked into me and I kept low to brace myself on the rooftop; then the girl swung up from the side, crouching catlike.

She held the gun pointed between my eyes, but she didn't pull the trigger right away. I smirked at her.

"You're not gonna do that bitch-" I growled loudly over the howling wind, "You need me alive, don't you? You would'a just shot me otherwise."

I saw her eye twitch and angrily.

"Or maybe," she called out coldly over the roar of the wind, "I want you to suffer for what you did to my family. A bullet would be mercy."

She was an Akuji. Something dark and sick grew in me when she confirmed it and I couldn't think, I didn't think. _A closed casket, covered in roses. The roar of motorbike engines. The sound of a bullet hitting her coffin._

I think I lunged but the next thing I knew she was clawing at my arm and her back was pressed against my torso as I started to crush her neck. How I'd even gotten her into the position I can't remember, I must've charged her… but I could feel her life slipping away under my grip and I could have grinned if that sick anger wasn't gnawing at me.

"…Shogo cried like a little bitch when we piled the dirt on," I snarled into her ear, "He _screamed_ and he _begged_-"

She clawed back at me, her nails scraping at my face and eyes – I went blind as blood dripped down over my face and with a roar I lifted then slammed her body down onto the roof of the train, the metal bending sharply under her. I went to cave her face in with my fist but she twisted and my knuckles punched a wide dent into the metal roof of the train, just as she swung her hand, chopping at my neck.

She was quick – I knew if I could land one single hit on her she'd go down but the little bitch was hopping around and dodging me. I swung a hit at her and she dropped under it and before I knew it my legs were swept out from under me.

Then she was on me, a flash of silver and I saw her plunging a knife at my face; I grabbed her wrist and twisted sharply, feeling something crunch and she screamed; the blade cut open the back of my hand but it was nothing to worry about by comparison. With a grunt I threw her off me; she tumbled towards the side, about to fall out of sight when I saw her grab the edge, hanging by one hand. I huffed, fingers curling around the knife she'd dropped and with the heavy swing, stabbed it at her hand.

There was a spray of crimson and a scream as a small piece of flesh and bone was severed, and she flew out of sight for a moment before I saw her hit the ground, bouncing and rolling for several paces before tumbling into the bushes, disappearing into the distance.

"Fucking burn you slut…" I growled.

I was still breathing hard, trying to keep low on the train as I edged back along towards the door – it was god damn freezing out here in the wind. I carefully lowered myself back into the train, dragging the door closed behind me and slumping down against the wall. With a slight grunt I reached out and slid the guards' door closed too, leaving me alone in the guard's compartment. I was still seething in the sudden silence…

_She was a god damn Akuji…_ and I just sat there picturing her rotting in a fucking ditch.

* * *

Eddie pressed his knuckles worriedly against the desk, glaring at the laptop screen.

No connection.

He rubbed his chin, rough with stubble now and tried reconnecting to Matt. He'd spoken to Aiko just before she'd left Paris and Matt only a few hours ago. Usually it wasn't a problem when the teen didn't answer but now he couldn't even punch through the connection; something had happened to him in those past few hours, something that made him shut down his systems. He could only hope the kid was on the run though that was the last thing he needed right now. With a tired and angry huff he got to his feet and started the long trudge down to the dungeon laboratory.

Eddie knew Nannette must have been working on reanimating 'Subject One' for much longer than she was letting on. He'd seen the tender way she looked at it, and even at Gat when he'd been here. So it was no surprise that her progress was so 'quick', if anything he was certain she'd been capable of bringing him back for some time now. Only her hopes of 'regenerating' his dead flesh and making him whole again had stopped her.

But there was no stopping now, no time for it. As Eddie turned the last corner to the cell, he could see Nannette knelt down next to the body, begrudgingly fastening the shackles to it's ankles as she prepared for the procedure. The crows' feet around Nanette's eyes deepened a little as she smiled at the motionless body, gently running a hand over the short dark curls over his head. She didn't look to Eddie when she heard him approach.

"I've altered the gas to a serum-" she greeted icily, holding up a syringe with a pearlescent liquid in it. Eddie folded his arms.

"Will we be able to control him?" he asked bluntly. Nannette paused before she answered.

"I don't know yet. I have introduced some new compounds I have been working on… including specimens of my own DNA," she said, glancing over her shoulder as she tacked on, "Since my blood type matches the one he seems to respond to the most."

There was a tense silence. Nannette gingerly picked up the syringe again.

"There's no time like the present," Eddie voiced as he took a few steps forward. He crouched down beside her, noting the worried look she was casting over the body. Eddie slowly placed two large, possessive hands over her shoulders, cooing slightly as he spoke to her.

"He's your Galatea… give him new life, Nanette…" Eddie prodded lowly, the bravado and dramatics of his tone coming back again, stronger and more frequent than before. He saw the older woman chew her lip briefly before she nodded. Eddie gave one last check to the chains and shackles around the cadaver's ankles as Nannette gently stroked the short curls of it's hair, pressing the syringe into it's neck. For a moment, there was nothing. The two took a few quick steps back, holding their breaths as they waited.

Nothing happened. Nannette put her steepled fingers to her mouth worriedly, still and waiting, when the body before them suddenly twitched. She gave a small, excited gasp, and even Eddie was frozen in anticipation. The body twitched again, the chest slowly expanding, contracting again as the low, quiet moan of a death rattle shuddered out of the body. Slowly, it began to twist, pushing itself up yet looking as if it were being pulled up like a marionette, till it stood, wavering slightly.

"Oh…" Nannette breathed, her hands moving to clasp against her chest,"_Cheri,_ can you hear me?"

There was a soft noise, a prickly purr that gurgled faintly out of the zombie's throat. Nannette clasped Eddie's arm tightly and her eyes shone with hope; all animosity toward him abruptly forgotten in the magical moment. Eddie watched her and it with a mixture of curiosity and disgust.

"_Mon fils,_ look at me," she pleaded softly. Eddie tilted his head.

"It's not attacking _us_, which I can only assume is a good sign," he said. Nannette had no scathing remark so she only nodded. Her mouth had become a hard line, and she spoke up louder, a little more clearly to it.

"_Look_ at me," she commanded. Slowly, the zombie lifted it's head a little, the single brown eye rolling to them. She clapped her hands, an astounded, ecstatic laugh leaping from her.

"Oh! _Voyez-vous cela?_ He can understand me!" she gushed, taking quick steps up to the zombie. Eddie wasn't so fast to share in her joy; he hadn't seen too many of the zombies on Arapice Island so he didn't have much to compare this one to. Still, he felt uneasy as Nannette got closer, slowly reaching out a hand. There was a moment of tension before she finally brought it to rest on the cold, greying skin. A delighted smile broke out over her aged face. The zombie seemed to be becoming more aware of her presence, giving a low grumble that turned into a moan-

Suddenly it had grabbed her arm, pulling her in and teeth gnashing. Nannette screamed in sudden surprise and Eddie raced forward, grabbing her by the waist and struggling to pull her out of the zombie's vice-like grip. He finally wrenched her away, and the zombie stumbled forward, almost tripping itself up over the shackles on it's feet as it continued to try and reach for her.

Nannette was shaking and Eddie roughly inspected her. A few scratches, some weak bite marks and defiantly some bruises would come up.

"Evidently, there are still a few kinks to work out," he said smoothly, and Nannette continued to shake, trying to nod her head.

"P-per'aps, 'e is jsust 'ungry," she muttered, almost speaking French and not quite speaking English in her fright. Eddie sounded vaguely amused by her suggestion.

"I'm certain we could find him a fine meal in one of the nearby towns," he said lowly; Nannette lifted her eyes suspiciously at him. Eddie then threw a disgruntled look to the zombie, still moaning and on the ground now, trying to crawl out of its restraints.

"Shut up," he growled at it to no avail. He glanced down at Nannette.

"Tell it to be quiet," he said slowly. She worried at her lower lip, looking at it.

"Stop that," she tried weakly. The zombie's struggles slowed and it rolled it's single dark eye up at her, the moan that sung lowly from it's chest becoming a threatening growl – but it slowly stopped struggling and began to get quiet.

"So it does listen to you… I suppose congratulations are in order. How long till he can be moved?"

"What?" Nannette huffed with a little confusion as she looked up at Eddie, "Moved where?"

He smiled down at her, the darkness in his eyes belying the wide grin over his mouth, "America," he said calmly, "You're going to take him to Cyrus Temple."

* * *

"_Bienvenidos al Hotel Emperador, ¿cómo puedo ayu-?_"

The woman at the front desk's smile suddenly faltered when she looked up and took me in. I'd seen that look a thousand times before. A little worried, a little confused, and a little more scared than anything. Could be the bruises coming up on my skin or the cuts or the tears in my clothes or maybe I hadn't _quite_ cleaned off that blood from before. I cleared my throat and tried to smile calmly back at her.

"Yo no hablo bien el _español_," I said a little statically (my Spanish was a bit rusty) "Hablas Inglés?

"English, yes," She said with a thick accent and she was clearly forcing herself to be bright and chipper, trying not to stare at my haggard appearance, "How am I able to help you?"

"I'm lookin' for a guest who's stayin' here," I said, leaning against the counter and feeling a little sore around the ribs, "A woman named Porscha."

The concierge raised an eyebrow delicately, "…Does Signorina Porscha have a last name?"

"Look, I'm here to talk to her about the-" my mind crashed out on me for a second. Fabric… cotton? Silk! "-The silk for the Spring line."

The concierge just gave me a long look and pursed her lips, glancing to a memo on a large pad in front of her, "…Miss Porscha has been expecting you – please, take a seat."

I looked over to the sofas in the lobby. The Hotel Emperador was one of those rich, extravagant places, all gold and red with classic furniture. I still wasn't a hundred percent about who I was dealing with here, but the setting at least gave me some idea. I slouched forward, starting to feel like shit again. Just a hundred and one injuries, too small to really matter, but just big enough to be annoying. I needed a god damn shower too, and a proper sleep.

"Mr. J?"

Shit. I must've been close to dozing if I couldn't notice those two men approaching. Both olive skinned, wearing suits that looked like they'd been hand-woven onto them and looking down at me impassively.

"That's right," I said cooly, standing up and they both nodded.

"_Signora Lucario_ is excepting you."

"That Porscha?" I asked tiredly and they exchanged droll glances. _Fuck_ these guys, I wasn't up for ceremony and shit right now.

"Follow us, please," he continued and I felt myself snarl as they led me to the elevator, stepping in either side of me and hitting the button for the rooftop garden, not saying another word till we reached the top.

We stepped out onto the rooftop pool, the suits either side of me stopping as soon as they got out. I thought this area was supposed to be communal but by the looks of it Porscha had reserved every inch. I didn't blame her; the pool looked out over the whole city and the parks, a real million dollar view. I'd have it to myself too if I could.

There were only two other people out here, both facing away on some recliner deck chairs setup poolside. I started over to them, slowing as I approached. They guy who was there looked like something from a Calvin Klein ad. The woman… well.

"…You must be Porscha," I greeted dryly. Looking at her, Italian supercars sure as shit came to mind.

She was tall, for one, legs up to her neck and a body built for bedrooms. Her hair was black and was probably supposed to curl, but she's had it cropped back short into a faux-hawk, a long tendril flopping down over her face. She had a black swimsuit that didn't do much of a job covering her up (hey, not that I was gonna complain) but if she was trying to tan, I really didn't see the point. The woman was _covered_ in tattoos, snakes and flowers and I don't know how many other designs. I thought I liked ink but this Porscha woman was a walking canvas.

She recrossed her legs at the ankle, balancing a martini in one hand and then carefully lifted her shades from her eyes with the other. They were slate grey and I could see her getting an eyeful of me.

"_Sei il socio di mio padre ha mandato?_" She said with a low husky voice with that bounding lilt. I felt a slight frown over the working side of my mouth.

"My Spanish is a little rusty-"

"That was Italian," she shot back a little incredulously. I rolled my eyes.

"Same fuckin' thing," I said with a wave of my hand, "You know if the continent can agree to usin' the same currency I don't see why you can't all agree on one language."

The guy laid out next to her said something in Spanish but she cut him off.

"You're not here to think, you're here to _glisten_," she told him flatly though he clearly didn't really understand what she said, shrugging and folding his arms back behind his head. Porscha turned back to me.

"Excuse Alejandro," she said, none too friendly, her full lips tugged into a slight sneer, "Now aside from giving us a display of just how _worldly_ you are, I suppose you are here looking for work?"

"You suppose fuckin' right," I said back. She smirked a little, setting down her martini and going to a small wooden box on the end table next to her, reverently pulling out a cigar.

"_Parodi?_" She asked politely. I shook my head.

"No thanks. So what's the job?" I pressed. Porscha frowned as she put a cigar to her mouth, her boyfriend picking up the lighter on the table next to him and flicking the flame on for her. She started puffing away then obstinately blew a breath out of her nose and glared at the horizon as she spoke.

"For a man who is so eager to get down to business, I rather expected you to be more presentable," she said snidely, looking me up and down again. She spoke english well, better than most. I felt a mean snarl on half my mouth.

"_You_ try jumpin' from a moving train sometime," I said bitterly. Pulling up into the station and getting swarmed by cops wasn't going to be the best way of arriving there, I had to improvise on the way in. Porscha snorted.

"Why would you do _anything_ so stupid?"

"Fuck you bitch," I snapped at her tiredly, "You want my help _fine_, but I ain't puttin' up with your shit."

I went to go but the moment I turned around, the two suits from before were in front of me, each with a GDHC pointed at my face. I laughed tiredly and shook my head, before suddenly charging them, grabbing a gun in each hand and yanking them past me – I drew up my fist with the momentum and slammed it into the throat of the one on my right, turning fast of that and cracking my elbow down onto the other guy's spine as he tried to turn back at me. Both guys dropped to the ground, scrambling for their guns, but I got to them first. I had a GDHC in each hand, one trained on the suited assholes at my feet, the other on the Italian woman. Her boyfriend had jumped up and was pointing a gun between my eyes, but by the looks of him I don't think he'd ever shot anyone in his life.

"The fuck were you keeping that, pretty boy?" I said dryly. I don't think he understood me, and in the tense silence of the standoff after that, I heard Porscha give a very low chuckle. She was still, watching me curiously and after a moment started to slowly clap.

"Alright. You're in, so long as you stop trying to murder my bodyguards," she said sounding faintly amused, "Alejandro, _nene_," she said gently to the Spaniard next to her. He gave me another snarl and slumped back down onto his deck chair, but he didn't let go of the gun.

"Glad we startin' to see eye to eye," I said to the Italian woman, "So, like I was sayin'… what's the plan?"

"Straight to business then…" she said sounding almost disappointed, "There is a convoy arriving in Madrid very early tomorrow, carrying some cargo my family would like to acquire. A… how do you Americans say it? Smash and grab?"

"Smash'n grab's if you're breaking into a building. Not that I'm getting' technical or shit," I said back with a slight smirk. She smiled.

"Either way, we hit hard, we hit fast," she said, "And you… _papà_ was told you are dangerous, ruthless… _audace_. If that's true, you will be more than useful in my little team."

Well, the bitch knows how to flatter a man… "What's the cargo?" I pressed. She raised an eyebrow at me.

"Does it really matter? My family wants it. So, we take it."

I shrugged, "Just sayin'. You sound like you'll be goin' to a bit of trouble for this, particularly if you want a mercenary for a _heist_."

Porscha's face melted into a playful smile, something dangerous in her eyes.

"Well, this is the fun part. We're not the only ones after it," she teased and I raised my eyebrows, curious now. She continued, "The Sicilians have also shown an interest in acquiring the works… our families have had a tenuous relationship at best, an unfortunate _incident_ led to one particular man's exile and… I won't bore you with details."

I nodded a lazy thanks, and she continued, bringing her pinky finger to her lips to nibble a the red polished nail there with a smile, "And I understand Giovanni will be overseeing their operation-"

Alejandro snorted derisively at the name. Porscha shot him a cold glare.

"Keep your comments to yourself, _tesoro_."

I think half Madrid could have heard that whip crack. I chuckled darkly and she tired using the same icy look on me, but I just folded my arms.

"Sounds good," I decided, "Now what's this gig pay?"

She took a long puff of her cigar, rolling the smoke in her mouth, "Five thousand Euros, if you do the job right."

"What if I said one thousand and a favour?"

She tapped a little ash away, nodding slowly to herself, "Papà mentioned that might be the case… you need to get back to America, yes?" she mused and I nodded. Her full lips twisted thoughtfully, "I will get you a plane to Cuba, one of the returns from the drug runs. From there I'm certain a man of your skills and resources will know how to get to Miami."

I nodded and she cleared her throat.

"In the mean time… perhaps you could clean yourself up? If you're going to be an associate of mine it's best you look the part," she said, lazily turning her head to smile sweetly at her boyfriend, "_Alejandro, dale la llave de la suite._"

He didn't seem too pleased but picked up a swipe-card key with the room number printed on from the end table between them. He passed it to her, and she handed it up to me.

"Uh, thanks," I said, glancing down at the card.

"_Prego,_" she said, sliding her shades back down over her eyes and re-settling on the deck chair, "Now move, you're in my sun."

* * *

It's an old routine, shower, dry, and start stitching. A lot of the cuts I could cover with glue, there wasn't anything too bad there. The bruises, not so much. Had a bit of a shiner thanks to that fuckin' Akuji bitch… dammit just thinking about her made me want to fuckin' break something. Hope she broke her scrawny whore neck when she rolled down those damn train tracks. Then got eaten by whatever fucked up wildlife is kicking about in Spain.

I grunted as I sat on the edge of the tub and started strapping my knee up; that thing is gonna give me real hell in a few years. I mean the surgeons did a brilliant job of fixing up a _shotgun_ slug but there's only so much you can do. But I still had years to go even if I was the wrong side of thirty now. Course you're only as old as the girl you feel (heh).

I dragged on the haggard jeans and ripped shirt – If Porscha didn't like that she could kiss my ass. I'm here to kill shit and make money, not look 'fuckin fabulous' for her.

The suite was nice though, just as grand as downstairs. I wandered about for a bit checking the place out, taking a tiny bottle of whiskey from the mini bar and swigging it in one. Not bad. Commercial, but not bad. After about five minutes of not really doing anything I settled on the couch, starting to feel how tired I really was. I was about to lay back and start napping when the door burst open and Porscha and Alejandro made their entrance. And… I'm guessing they kinda forgot I was there. The door had barely closed behind them and he was all over her, and she we pretty well attacking him back, all tongues and hands and trying to wrap a leg around him without the pair falling over.

_... I really miss my girl._

"_Maldita eres hermosa_-" I heard Al growl at her and _yeah_, I was done there. I cleared my throat but they ignored me, still tumbling back towards the bed.

"…I'll let you guys get to that then," I said, quick to pick myself up off the couch and slip out the front door, smirking a little at the last command I heard her say to him.

"_Spogliati e mettiti in ginocchio._"

* * *

**Sorry again on the delay my darlings!**


	15. So Close, So Far

**Thanks for the continued support guys! I'm having a bit of a time making sure I'm getting all of these events in the right time frames... so much going on in my head and consequently this story it's been interesting trying to make sure it all makes sense...**

* * *

"…I should have stayed," I grumbled for the hundredth time, hands gripping through my hair. My mind was in a whirl, I was back in that strange limbo where I was only a week ago before Pierce and I had that screaming match, and four months of denial imploded on me. Shaundi gave me a flat and tired look and I knew she was wrestling with the same thought.

"And done what?" she asked as she turned her attention back to the laptop on her knees, "Wander around the countryside calling out his name like Jane Eyre?"

I blinked, cocking an eyebrow at her, "Jane didn't do that, Rochester called out _her_ name and she heard him…" I muttered. When I was teenager I'd read that book a thousand times.

"Jane, Jane, Jane_…_" I barely muttered. _O God, what is it? I am coming, wait for me, O I will come…_

"Guess I was more of an Austen girl," Shaundi replied, the keys of the laptop clacking loudly under her fingers for a moment before they swept over the small mouse pad.

"Persuasion?" I asked flatly, my mind elsewhere.

"Emma," she corrected.

"Hn…" I gently pinched the space at the middle of my brow, and Shaundi continued.

"We didn't come over here decked out for a full scale search. We _need_ to get back to Steelport, at least to regroup so if we do need to go somewhere we can go in force."

She'd said all this before. I had to wonder if she was telling me, or herself. Matt's words started tumbling around in my head.

Johnny's alive.

I desperately, _desperately_ wanted to believe him but he had no way of proving it to me. Shaundi was searching through the hard drives we'd found in his duffle but so far there was nothing. I think something, a survivalist instinct in me maybe, refused to let me really believe it.

The last time I learned Johnny was dead, it nearly destroyed me. I don't think my mind was willing to risk it again, and now I felt myself split right down the middle. Johnny was alive, or Matt was lying. And why wouldn't Matt lie? He was a pathetic little worm who'd do anything to save his own hide or buy himself enough time to escape; I'd met his kind before.

"I should have stayed," I repeated, saying what I didn't want to think. Johnny could be alive. Lost. In trouble.

"You heard what Matt said," Shaundi pressed, "If he's telling the truth Johnny could be halfway home by now and following him on the ground isn't going to get shit done any faster."

Shaundi had spent the greater part of the afternoon crying, and now seemed stronger than before. It reminded me of a saying my nan used to tell me when I was a tiny child - she was a woman who was always full of sayings. 'That which doesn't bend, breaks'.

Made me wonder if that's why I tended to unravel so badly after keeping my shit together for so long. And why Shaundi… Shaundi took Johnny's death 'hard', but she didn't break. I closed my eyes again. There was something else my nan used to say. 'It'll be alright in the end. If it's not alright, it's not the end.'

Almost made me want to break her sweet old face in now that I thought about it. Of course she'd been dead for fifteen years so that was a little futile. I pulled out my packet of Apple cigarettes and debated on whether or not to light up; you're technically not supposed to when you're flying but then, this was a private jet. Then again we'd only been in the air for an hour… Shaundi mightn't appreciate it.

I put the pack away and glared at the unconscious boy sitting across from me. I had a nasty habit of smacking him over the head and now I was waiting for him to wake up again. After a moment I started getting impatient and took the soda can from the cup holder in the armrest of my seat, then leant forward and started pouring it over his head. Not quite a bucket of water to the face but it eventually had the same effect; he flinched, then groaned and slowly opened his eyes.

"Hn… wha?"

"Rise and fuckin' shine, shit head," I growled at him. He began trembling a little, giving a hopeless moan when he looked across to me.

"I already told you everything-" he barely mumbled and I slapped his face a few times to help wake him up.

"I want to hear it again." I wanted to hear any tiny difference in his story that would tell me if he was lying or if maybe I should turn this fucking plane around. Shaundi's eyes were on me.

"Nothing on this one Boss," she said, unplugging the hard drive from her laptop and fishing out the next one, "Kinzie might be able to go deeper though when she'd done with those computers he fried."

"There's no chance of that working, everything of use is _gone_, alright?" Matt pressed and I resisted the urge to hit him again. Shaundi ignored him and plugged in the next hard drive.

"You'd _know_ everything that was on those computers," I said, "Tell me again."

"Killbane called me and told me Gat was alive but that he'd escaped custody in Belgium," he said wearily, "I threw a net over Brussels and got a hit in an internet café, but that was days ago and I haven't gotten a hit since. Killbane didn't call to say if he'd been caught or killed so I assumed he hadn't and kept looking. I didn't find anything else."

"How did he survive?" I asked again.

"I don't know." Matt looked exhausted, though maybe it was just the black eyes and dried blood. Seemed a little worse for wear.

"You know what'll happen to you when we get what's on those computers and I find out you're lying?" I purred darkly.

"You won't be able to salvage what's on there."

"You hope. Kinzie's beaten you before I'm sure she'll have no problems with your hardware."

"You don't think she can," he said with a smirk, "If you did you'd have killed me by now, but you need me, don't you?"

He might as well have been clucking at me like a chicken; my hand whipped the gun from it's holster and aimed it right between his wide, frightened eyes.

"No!" he gasped quickly, flinching against his restraints, "Kill me and you'll never find him."

My hand froze and I felt myself being torn again. A cruel voice taunted my mind- _Johnny's dead, Matt's only saying this to keep his own pathetic hide safe._

"You haven't proven he's alive," I growled, eyes narrowed and the little bastard smirked at me.

"You gonna risk that and never see your _darling_ Johnny ag-"

_THWACK_.

Matt slumped forward in his chair as a thin silver hard drive flew across the cabin and cracked him over the head. I looked across the isle to where Shaundi was glaring at him thunderously.

"Thanks," I said hollowly. After a moment she reached over, stretching to cover my hand with hers.

"…We're gonna end up giving him brain damage if we're not careful," I mused vacantly and I felt her shake my hand a bit.

"C'mon Boss, don't do that," she warned and I blinked at her with a frown.

"Do what?"

"That… _spacey_ thing, the robot thing," she said, hazel eyes shining a bit, "We need you _here_."

I could only nod, my insides still feeling cold. I wanted to hope, even though it was dangerous to.

"…What're you thinking?" Shaundi asked after a moment. I turned my hand over so our palms were pressed together and I felt her fingers squeeze a little. It was a while before I could answer her.

"Just… wondering. If he _is_ out there, what he's doing. If he's safe."

"Knowing Gat…" Shaundi offered after a moment, "Out raising some fucking hell."

* * *

I braced myself in the back of the 'suped up Alaskan, Porscha lounging in the covered tray next to me.

"So, this flight you're getting me-?" I started and she pouted my way.

"What about it?" she shot back flatly. I shrugged.

"Well you got any details?"

Porscha gave me one of those bitchy, seething looks, "I would prefer it if you could keep your mind on the job at hand."

"Just askin' for a where and when."

"Lagos Portugal," she said with a huff, "As for when, I haven't decided yet."

I knew a threat when I heard it. Fair enough, we had a pretty big job to take care of. I glared up between the seats and out the front of the car, seeing the truck off in the distance. I glanced down at my grappling harpoon gun and scowled. Would've preferred my Krukov.

"Yo why don't you just jack the truck?" I asked and Porscha raised her eyebrows at me.

"Not my style," she said, "This takes finesse, elegance. Sophistication."

"And just a touch of fuckin' insanity, you realise that?" I suggested and she smirked at me.

"…You don't seem _unimpressed_," she purred and shot her a grin. As much as I've liked a good and proper fire fight-

"I guess a plan ain't a plan till it's a crazy one," I replied and she matched my grin, chuckling. She reclined back against her side of the tray, crossing her feet at the ankle.

"Shame you want to go back to America," she said lightly, "I like your attitude."

"_Porscha,_" Alejandro called back to her from the drivers' seat,"_Hay tres kilómetros de carretera recta, prepárate_."

Porscha crept forward to glare up the road – we'd closed right in on the rear of the truck and I felt the adrenaline starting to kick in. She gave me a dangerous smile.

"Alright American. Show me what you got."

I grinned back at her and we edged to the back of the car, gripping the leather straps that hung from the ceiling. Alejandro gave us the count from the front of the truck.

"_Uno, dos, tres-_"

I thudded against the side of the car as he jerked the break and drifted it around, sliding into a full 180. The engine cut for a minute before Alejandro wrenched it into reverse, now me and Porscha were looking down the road out the back of the car, as it sped tail-end towards the truck. She unlocked the back of the Alaskan, the tailgate dropping and top end lifting up blasting us with cold air. I lifted my grappling-gun up unto my shoulder. It was like a harpoon or RPG launcher, nothing I hadn't handled before. Porscha had a custom crossbow she raised the sights of, and quickly we both fired. The cables whistled out after the hooks which stuck into the end of the truck, and just as quickly we wound the cables into the hooks on the base of the Alaskan.

"Al'e," Porscha called over her shoulder, "Closer!"

Alejandro was looking over his shoulder, and I gotta say doing a pretty good job of driving the truck fuckin' _backwards_. He hit the gas harder and the back end gained on the truck, and Porscha crept forward as the tail was just about to bump into the back of the truck. She began pulling some tools from her duffle bag, inching forward to the end of the tray.

I gotta say, when she told me the plan I was thinking she'd be making _me_ do this part. Actually disappointed she didn't now, looked like a real kick.

The women leapt out the back and closed the short gap to the back of the truck, clinging to the door with one hand while she got to work on the locks with the small blow torch. She was grinning and I started shoving the duffle and guns outta the way, ready to help her load in the cargo.

"Almost there!" She shouted back over the wind and I braced myself as the doors on the end of the truck rattled as she seared through the locks, just a the whine of a high-pitched engine shot past-

_**SH-BOOOM!**_

Everything went to shit, a shockwave hitting before the fireball did.

I was getting hit from every side and my ears were ringing, the car tumbling around me for a moment before it was gone – I barely felt the grass slipping under me.

There's always that stunned moment where your brain only _just_ starts coming together after you've been _blown the fuck up_. Cold grass and dirt on my face… or maybe it just felt cold cos my skin was hot from the fire that was leaving spots in my eyes. I must've been thrown from the Alaskan… My ears were ringing so loudly I couldn't hear anything else, I felt glass stuck in my jacket, piercing it and scraping me but eventually the world stopped spinning and above the scent of dirt and blood was that sharp stink of burning rubber and metal.

I groaned and started pushing myself up, a flash of pain shooting up my arm from my wrist, a few ribs… if any of them were fractured I guess I wouldn't know till the adrenaline wore off. The world tilted a bit as I looked around...

We'd slid down the short embankment from the road; the truck was on its side, doors open and crates spilling out the back. Porscha was slowly getting to her feet a few paces from it and behind me the Alaskan was upside down, crumpled, burnt, wheels still spinning. I stumbled quickly over to it.

"Yo, Al?" I grunted, frowning when he didn't answer, "…_Al?_ You dead?"

I dragged my feet as I hurried to the drivers' side, crouching and glaring inside. Al's dark hair covered his face, but after a moment he twitched, then groaned.

"Shit man..." I reached in to help as he tried to unbuckle his seatbelt – his body suddenly dropped to the roof of the car and he was saying something in Spanish as I started dragging him out. Back up on the road I heard those engines again and I set Al up against a boulder, going to the back of the Alaskan and hunting inside for those SMGs Porscha had brought along 'just in case'.

Porscha said we weren't the only ones after the loot – looks like the other crew had finally arrived.

She was on her feet and screaming something in Italian as two indigo Attraziones slid to a halt up on the road, the small crew jumping out guns drawn, four of them. I didn't hesitate; I mightn't have been able to see too good but I'd been killing motherfuckers for a long fuckin' time so the second I lifted my TK up I opened fire. One was hit and fell outta sight, another jolted as I emptied half a clip into him, dead before he hit the ground.

The last two I saw duck behind their car and I dropped back behind the Alaskan for a little cover when they started shooting over the hood. A short way off I could see Porscha covered behind a boulder, bullets clipping past her. The woman might've been a hard-ass but she was also my ticket home – I wasn't gonna let her get iced.

One of the men started shouting something and they stopped shooting so I swung out from the cover and started firing again.

"Jet!" Porscha shouted over at me furiously and I paused, slipping back behind cover and glaring over at her – she was fuzzy at that distance but I could just make out her shaking her head. She carefully stood, pointing her gun at the other two but not firing.

"_Lunatic! Si potrebbe aver distrutto i quadri!_" she shouted; one of the men from the cars slunk out from cover, shotgun still trained on her.

"_Signorina,_" he called out and by the sounds of it… these two knew each other. Pretty well, actually. Then they were doin' a back and forth thing, stalking up to each other. I reckon if I knew any Italian it would'a been something poetic, as it stood I just assumed they were trash talking. Still, when she started getting closer to him I stalked out from behind my cover, sights of the TK up in case I had to plug that asshole. His backup saw me and switched his aim, but wasn't about to start shooting. Porscha and the other guy… I'm guessing the 'Giovanni' guy she said would be running the other crew, were starting to edge at each other like pig-dogs. He hissed something at her and she snapped, dropping her gun and pulling a knife out of her pocket.

"You stupid motherfucker just _shoot_ him!" I shouted at her, not that she paid any attention. They snapped, launching at each other, all fists and knives, downright _vicious_. I've seen enough fights like this before, I _been_ in enough fights like this before to know Porscha wouldn't appreciate me steppin' in. But I'd rather the bitch be pissed off than dead. She wasn't any good to me if she was fuckin' _dead_. She got the upper hand on him, had him pinned beneath her but he looked like he was about to wrestle her knife from her hand-

Giovanni shouted something and I saw the guy backing him up lift his gun, cheating fuckwit -I swung my TK up and fired the last of the clip into him without another thought. Porscha shouted in Italian at the same time Giovanni did and she cracked him over the face with a rock as he went to throw the knife my way.

Dude had shitty aim.

Porscha heaved him and slammed his head back down into the ground, straddled over the top of him and for one moment I was kinda glad for Al he didn't see it; fully pressed up against each other, and it was starting to get hard to tell if they were grappling or groping.

Either way, she had him now. I strolled over and as I started approaching she blew a lock of hair from her eyes, still trying to wrestle the guy into total submission.

"The cables from the truck-" she huffed, not needing to elaborate. I jogged over to the back of the tipped truck, using my good arm to wrench one of the cables free. My ribs ached when I did and I was pretty sure then they were fractured, pain in the fuckin' ass. I dragged the cable back to her tossing it down on the ground and putting a hand over my ribs. She didn't need my help hog-tying her pal; when she was done she looked damn pleased with herself too.

"Jet, allow me to introduce Giovanni, the _idiota_ who tried to blow up my cargo."

I chuckled and folded my arms; he was a pretty-boy wearing indigo flags and I got the feeling he was gonna try and say something, but Porscha had really put the hurt on him. So he just kinda laid there, a little pissed off but mostly stunned with blood running into his eyes.

She was still breathing heavily from the fight, then blinked her eyes wide with worry when she looked over to the Alaskan and went strutting on over.

"Al'e?" she called out; I was half expecting the guy to be dead, but after a moment he moved against the boulder, going to stand then slowly hobbling over to meet her half way.

"_Estoy bien, nena_," he grunted, nodding to the truck and saying something else. She straightened and looked at the truck, spilt on its side with some of those crates tumbling out of it. She muttered to him and he nodded, dragging himself up the bank to one of the waiting Attraziones. She really could have been more concerned for the poor guy but I guess for women like her new fuck-buddies wouldn't be hard to come by. Porscha pouted again, picking through the crates, dragging one out then gingerly cracking it open. I stalked up behind her, looking over her shoulder.

"Boldini… the master of swish," she breathed, reverently sliding something from a narrow crate-

I thought I was about to fall on my fuckin' face.

"_Paintings?_" I shouted at her and she blinked over at me, grey eyes all innocent and wide.

"_Si._"

"You're getting your ass shot up for a bunch of fuckin' _paintings?!_"

"_Filisteo_," she shot at me, going through another crate, lookin' for something. I rolled my eyes.

"Just… tell me there's drugs or somethin' hidden in them."

"No. Something far more precious…" She gasped then and beckoned me over, sliding a painting from a crate. For a moment she looked like she might cry.

"_This_," she said brightly, "This is it…"

The painting was a portrait of a woman, dark hair in an old-style up do, layers of pearls around her neck. Nice painting, actually. Kinda messy around the sides but it cleaned up more the closer it got to her face.

"It is – _was _– part of a private collection that was sold to a museum rather than to my family… no matter what offer was made. Papa, naturally, was not happy with that arrangement," she smiled broadly at the painting, "We've been hunting out this painting for years, my family. It is of my great, great grandmother, Donatella Morosini…"

"Huh… yeah, I can see that," I said; something about the face, colouring, you could see the lineage. I guess Italians were all about bloodlines, "So, this is all… sentimental value then?"

"It's a _Boldini,_" she repeated, giving me a narrow glare, "You really know nothing of art, do you?"

"Only what the missus tells me."

She smirked, sliding the painting back into the crate and started carrying it over to one of the indigo cars, glancing over her shoulder and nodding to the truck.

"Quickly now. Work is only half done," she said and I rolled my eyes to the truck, hearing her laugh behind me.


	16. Matt's Last Ace

**Phew, this was a big'un. I'd like to do a shout out to D the Knight and his new fic 'RIP Exs', got some interesting OC's and (I'm flattered to say) is set in this universe. A fanfic of a fanfic... Fanception!**

* * *

Shaundi stepped down elegantly onto the tarmac and I trudged down behind her, dragging the drugged, half-conscious Matt Miller along with me. I gave a yawn and glared up at the sky resentfully; my body clock would be properly fucked for a few days now and it was usually bad enough without jet lag piling on top of it.

The crew were there to meet us; Pierce fronting up the gang, a few of his boys in an Alaskan and a Criminal ready to move the cargo we said we were bringing. I realised then that Oleg was sitting up in the tray of the Criminal, hopping down to greet us warmly and that Angel was there too, his eyes fixed coldly on Matt. Pierce was rushing to us in an instant.

"Boss! Boss has he said anything else? You find anything?" he gushed; we'd called ahead and told him what Matt had said about Johnny, it was no surprises he was bouncing off the walls.

I shook my head, "Nothing useful. We'll know more once Kinz starts getting those computers up and running." I turned to the waiting crew and indicated to the cargo being unloaded from the plane, "You boys start loading this shit up."

They jumped to the command and I turned back to Pierce and my lieutenants, letting my mind slip into war mode as we strode over the airstrip.

"Alright. Anyone in your crews who knows _anything_ about computers, I want them working with Kinzie, whatever she need done."

"I'll go," Shaundi said instantly, "I know a few boys who might be able to help out too."

"I am not thinking Kinzie will appreciate crowds in her inner Sanctum," Oleg suggested warily and I frowned, handing off Matt to him. Oleg nonchalantly slung the drugged teen over his shoulder.

"I don't doubt it. But _this_," I said, indicating around me and then to Matt, "Is a little bit of a bigger fucking deal than her being a hermit."

"… That is true."

Pierce and Shaundi fragmented from the group, both on their cells and phoning down the orders. Angel stepped up to my side and fell in stride with me.

"Enjoy your flight?" He asked gruffly.

"No." I could feel the bags growing under my eyes and had to hold back a yawn when I continued, nodding ahead of us to the Criminal and Alaskan being loaded up. "You don't know anyone who could help with this shit?"

"My kind of people aren't exactly tech savvy. I'm more interested in _him_," Angel replied, nodding a cold look to Matt who was still dopily hanging over Oleg's shoulder.

"I think I got all I can from him for the moment…" I grumbled and Angel gallantly kept walking me to the cars. I rolled my shoulder tiredly, "Figured I'd leave him with Kinzie, she might be able to find a good use for him. Stick him in that NEMO chair and dissect his brain or something…"

"You rely on her too much," Angel repeated when we reached the waiting cars; my beloved Bezier was there looking freshly waxed too and I smiled at the sight of it.

"Yeah, you told me," I grumbled when I realised I hadn't replied.

"We're just about done here Boss," one of the boys called out from the tray of the Criminal and I nodded, swinging my car keys on my fingers again.

"Right. We're headed straight to Kinzie's."

* * *

Kinzie had reacted to my plan pretty much exactly as I expected she would. A lot of bitching and complaining on her part till eventually she came up with a new tactic; setting up a second surveillance point at Burns Hill nuclear plant, the old Deckers hideout.

Made sense really. There was already a heap of hardware there, the facility was larger and in better condition than Kinzie's old warehouse so I imagine the Saints put to the job would be happier about it too. It seemed reasonable enough to concede this one; Matt's fried computers were sent to Burns Hill for the crew to try and reconstruct, and his duffle bag of hard drives were handed over to Kinzie, along with a currently unconscious Matt, to be kept in her and Oleg's custody and generally out of trouble. I had considered handing him over to Viola on the chance she might be able to work on him; she'd known him longer and better than anyone since they both used to work for Loren, what's to say she wouldn't bring him around to our side…?

But, he was smart, and she was slick. And I've had my fair share of knives in the back to know that's not always a good combination when you know you can't fully trust either party involved. So, Matt would stay with Kinzie, and Viola could continue on with her business. Kinzie, naturally, had been adamant that under no circumstances would Matt be staying with her no matter how useful he could be, until that is I mentioned that if the boy gave her any trouble Oleg was welcome to pull one of his arms off.

Oleg seemed surprisingly pleased with the decision.

By the time all of this was sorted, it left us in the garage of Kinzie's warehouse. Kinzie had slouched off in a dark mood, bitterly busying herself with the hard drives and Oleg was placidly trying to calm the waters. I stood with Pierce, Shaundi and Angel, habitually giving out final orders.

"Shaundi, you're overseeing Burns Hill," I said and she nodded quickly.

"Wouldn't wanna be anywhere else," she agreed.

Pierce glanced at her as she sauntered quickly to her car and he stepped forward, "You know uh, I could give you a ride up there if you need it," he offered – my head snapped up thoughtfully and I nodded.

"Good idea," I said to him, "Help the crew set up shop over there and keep me posted."

For some reason, Shaundi shot me a withering look as she slipped into the passenger side of the car with Pierce. As they shot out of the garage, it left only Angel and me standing next to my Bezier; I slumped against it, my brain still in 'ultra operation' mode.

"Any messages while I was gone?" I asked flatly and I pulled my smokes from my back pocket. I realised I'd been good lately – I hadn't had one since I touched down at Heathrow airport. Angel stepped around the car, leaning against it next to me.

"No," he replied flatly and I put a cancer stick between my lips, patting down my pockets for my lighter and trying not to groan when I realised I didn't have it on me. Then much to my surprise, Angel leant over, a flame flicking from the black lighter he held out.

"…You don' shmoke," I mumbled at him over the cigarette. He raised an eyebrow impassively.

"Lighters are useful things to carry," he replied, and after a beat I leant in and let him light my cigarette… For that moment I felt like I was in an old black and white film, when smoking was sexy and the men were suave. I felt him watching me as I drew my first breath and let the smoke whisper from between my lips… I don't know how, maybe it was him, but the simple act somehow felt… taboo.

I flicked some ash harshly and shook my head clear.

"No news?"

Angel leant back too, the short spell now broken but I sensed he wasn't about to let up. "Small fight club was found near the arena, being run by a few old Luchadors who dropped their flags," he said professionally, "Didn't know if you wanted to give them a chance to join the Saints or just wipe them out-"

"They paying up?" I asked, taking a long drag of bitter smoke. Angel shrugged, and I realised he was close enough I felt the movement.

"They are now."

Another hard drag, "…Just keep an eye on them in that case," I decided, fingers tapping, "If it's just a bunch of sweaty old guys wanting to beat the shit out of each other. It's really not a huge concern right now."

"The main concern being Killbane?" he inevitably pressed and I narrowed my eyes at him.

"No. Matt's computers."

There was a moment of silence then and Angel folded his arms. I stared ahead absently flicking away ash.

"…You're putting a lot into searching for a man who's _dead_," he said coldly and I froze, lifting a dangerous glare to him.

"You better fucking watch yourself Angel-" I purred lowly and he moved off the car, stepping to stand in front of me and boxing me in.

"Or maybe you should try thinking a little more clearly," he said, finger an inch away from poking me in the chest, "You have Matt in custody and using all of your resources hunting a _ghost_."

My fist moved before my mind told it to, cigarette tumbling from my fingers and burning my palm as I suddenly swung a punch at him; but his hand came up and caught the hook before it hit his jaw. His large hand covered mine pushing back against my own strength and he didn't let go. Angel glowered at me.

"If you really thought he was alive, you wouldn't be here," he pressed, "And you wouldn't still have that sellout suit as your second in command."

I wrenched my hand free, "Only _I_ talk about my friends like that asshole!"

"We had a plan," he pressed, taking a step forward and I pressed back onto the car, "We were going to take out Killbane together, finish what the Saints started."

We…?

He was so close now, standing over me and… "Fuck… a shitting _whore_, Shaundi was right about you!" I snapped and felt my eyes going wide. Angel frowned at me with confusion.

"I don't know what you-"

"You were trying to _fuck_ your way to the top of my gang!" I shouted at him, taking a sharp step forward off the car so suddenly he had to step back from me. He blinked, then after a moment… he fucking _smirked_.

"Don't be so sensitive," he growled softly at me, the tone too seductive for me not to notice, "You're a powerful, beautiful woman." He brushed a lock of hair away from my shoulder and somehow I couldn't stop him. "And you're a Queen with no King."

My jaw dropped. I think I would have hit him but I was too stunned to move. Shaundi had mentioned I based the ranks of the crew around their personal connection to me and in retrospect… yeah, I did. The shit thing was, there was a time there where I'd actually come to respect Angel and think of him as a friend. Murderbrawl had bonded us, and when he'd come back after that mess with Killbane escaping I thought things could be fixed. But _this?_ How could he possible think like _this?_

"You- you're not even going to _try_ and deny it?"

"I ran the Luchadors alongside Killbane and you and I, we've proven we fight well side by side," he said as he indicated between us, "You're pragmatic; it's logical, isn't it? And I _know_ you aren't repulsed by the idea-"

"Stop that!" I yelped, my own tone surprising myself. I was trying to wrap my mind around the idea that people still _thought_ like that, "Shit! I knew you were older I didn't realise you were born in 17-fuckin'-50! There is no _we,_ there is no fucking _us!_ God!"

Angel took another invasive step towards me when I went to move back, and he was fixing me with his dark gaze, "And why shouldn't there be?"

"You know why!"

Silence hung in the air after that. I felt like I had just kicked myself in the stomach, and Angel's stare was fixed on me. When he next spoke, his tone was low again, crooning.

"… I have to admire your dedication to him," he said steadily, "But it's blinding you."

"It's what drove me in the first place," I said icily.

"_Exactly_." His hands were on my shoulders then, a shock of warmth I wished wasn't so inviting. I glared back up at him challengingly but his eyes were… intense. His thumbs brushed hard over my skin as he continued.

"Revenge. You're letting Matt confuse you and distract you from what you have to do for your gang."

"…Get your hands off me," I warned and weirdly, he smirked again. _Why did he have to smirk?_ Why couldn't he just react _predictably?_ At least he let me go, hands leaving a mark of heat on my skin. A cringe melted over my eyes; I didn't want to have to deal with his drama and a headache was starting to split between my temples. Angel was still too close for comfort.

"You know what I'm saying is true."

"Whatever," I snapped back. I turned around and yanked the car door open, slouching heavily into the driver's seat and pulling my keys from my pocket. I revved the car engine furiously and glared back at Angel, "Talking to you is like having a period."

With that I yanked the door shut and slammed my foot on the gas, practically exploding out of that garage.

* * *

"Oh, careful-"

"Do not worry, Kinzie. Is no problem," Oleg said comfortably as he hoisted the massive satellite dish up onto his back. Kinzie smiled warmly, stepping back a few steps as Oleg leapt up and griped the side of the fire escape that ran up the side of the warehouse, after a moment of readjusting began climbing up the side of it, too large to actually use the stairs. Kinzie crossed her arms over her chest and watched him for a little while.

'_Like King Kong… only a brilliant Russian instead of a gorilla.'_

She allowed herself another moment of amusedly picturing herself as Fae Ray, slung over his shoulder as her Russian Superman swatted down planes around them before she shook her head free from the giddy thoughts, turning sharply on her heel and heading back inside. The dish might be a little conspicuous, but that was far outweighed by what it offered as far as broadcasting and searches went.

She started back towards her inner sanctum, releasing an almost-silent sigh as she looked at the open black duffle, still packed with sleek silver hard drives. Each had to be a terabyte at least. A small noise from the other end of the room jolted her, the sound of someone clearing their throat and she crinkled her nose as she glared over at him.

Matt was leaning up against the bars of a make-shift portable cell, glaring at her through his bruised and swollen eyes. The cell – or cage – was one of the free-standing older styled ones with an area of floor space only six by six feet, framed with vertical iron bars.

_Why _Kinzie had a cell like that was open to speculation, though considering the rest of her BDSM paraphernalia it wasn't difficult to guess. Either way, it had now become particularly useful in housing their prisoner.

"Are you planning on feeding me any time soon Agent?" Miller asked, his lyrical English accent dry with annoyance and fatigue. Kinzie just fixed him with her unnerving, unblinking gaze.

"Considering your estimated energy expenditure, I doubt you're really as hungry as you think you are," she said, enjoying herself more than she was letting on. She had initially thought having the London hacker there would be the nightmare to end all nightmares, but after the first night she was discovering it wasn't nearly as bad as she'd thought. For one thing, Oleg had to only crack his knuckles in front of the boy to scare him back into respectful silence, and there really was something satisfying about seeing the self-proclaimed cyber god so humanly vulnerable.

'…_These Saints may be starting to rub off on me,'_ she thought with a fleeting hint of worry. Shrugging the thought off, the pulled another hard drive from the duffle, sitting down next to it at her computers and plugging it in. She could hear Matt holding back a low and angry noise as he watched her pillage and plunder the drives right in front of him and she had to hold back her smirk.

"You won't find anything," he repeated darkly and she shrugged.

"You know the Boss said if you hassle me too much I can have my Russian Superman break your legs," she said placidly in her mousy voice.

"It's not hassling, if anything I'm being helpful Agent Kensington," Matt said clearly, "The computers that had anything useful on them are fried."

"Not all of them. Trust me, I can figure this out…" Her voice was lyrical with hubris. After a long minute of silence, the information on the drives lay naked and exposed on the many monitors before her and Kinzie could sense Matt's fury as he silently seethed. Annoyingly, she could empathise, and after a moment Kinzie spoke up.

"You know it might just be faster to _tell_ the Boss where Killbane is."

"I don't know where he is," Matt repeated robotically. Kinzie rolled her eyes to him with a heartily flat look and he shrugged.

"I'm being honest Agent Kensington. Gathered the less I knew this time the better," he said, too-casual and light for her to believe him, "And trying to re-work those hard drives to see if you can get a trace on our communication lines is an exercise in futility."

"You really expect me to believe any of that?" she voiced flatly, the images on the screens reflecting on the gloss of her glasses, "You'd find out _everything_ there is to know about the people you work with."

"And how do you know that?"

Kinzie stiffened, if only slightly. _'Because it's what I'd do,'_ she thought. The moment she knew she'd be working with the Saints Kinzie had gathered every scrap of information on them that she could; even connected enough dots that she was now ninety-nine percent certain of the Boss' real name and identity after sifting through how-many aliases

"… What if I said I'd help you if your Boss could promise me a few things?"

"I'd say she'd trust you as far as an anvil can jump."

"And what about you?" Matt asked and shrugged at Kinzie's flat look, "Fair enough then. On the hard drive with the Skrillex sticker on it you'll be able to find in a password protected file a long list of contacts. The number I used to contact Killbane is stored under the ID number 4P0C41YP53."

"As in the Walking Apocalypse, very clever…"

"I certainly thought so."

Kinzie was silent for a moment before giving Matt a long look. "...Why are you doing this?"

"Firstly, in the hope you might stop raping my hard drives when the majority of the content is only a new gaming forum I'm working on. Secondly…" he gave dramatic pause and leant against the bars of the cell, "I want your Boss to let me go. Call the number, trace it, get his location so I can get the bloody hell out of here."

Kinzie considered him wordlessly fro a long moment, then eventually rifled through the duffle bag, hunting out the terabyte with the sticker like Matt had told her to. She hooked it up and after a moment of fiddling with the console and hunting for the file, she spoke up.

"Password?"

"Melbourne89."

Kinzie raised her eyebrows briefly, "Cute."

Just as he'd said, the file broke open to a myriad of coded names – and in the mess of it, was 4P0C41YP53. Matt was silent as she accessed the number, putting a headset on and getting ready to trace the call, her heart picking up a beat as she punched through the connection. For one seemingly long moment, the tension in the air was palpable…

There was a sharp trill nearby and Kinzie frowned, recognising the sound of a cell phone ringing. IN that split second, raw instinct told her what was going to happen next; her blood ran cold and her heart dropping into her stomach when she looked to the black duffle bag where the trilling came from.

"Sonofa-"

The sudden explosion silenced anything else she would say as the room was blown apart.

Kinzie was sent flying back by the force of the blast, her small frame engulfed in flames and hammered with shrapnel as she flew back through the wall of monitors and tumbled out of sight. Matt took cover behind the bed, hiding his body under a thin blanket as the explosion subsided and the air sucked back, kicking up smoke and papers as it did. Only the sound of rubble clattering to the ground could be heard, though somewhere above him on the rooftop was a furious shout in Russian and heavy footsteps thundering along…

Matt started scrambling right away, wrenching at the now-broken hinges of the cell door and throwing it open as he slipped across the concrete, racing for the exit. A roar descended down, and Matt spared only one frightened glance to the ceiling

"…Oh no-" he squeaked. Suddenly the roof crashed in, beams, concrete and steel blasting down and was crumpled under the weight of the Russian Superman who landed heavily in the centre of the room. Oleg gave a furious roar as he saw Matt sprinting away and thundered after him through the growing smoke and flames. Matt's heart hammered in his chest and he pushed himself harder, his foot suddenly twisting over a stray brick that sent him hurtling to the ground, more than enough time for Oleg to gain and grab one of his skinny legs in an oversized hand.

Oleg's face was contorted with fury and he lifted the boy up; Miller wriggled, frantic and futile against the hold, suspended upside down he was brought eye-to-eye with Oleg.

"If you are not having legs," Oleg seethed darkly, "You cannot be running away-"

"Wha_AAAAARRGGHH!_" Matt's howl echoed around the room over the crackling of flames as Oleg's hand began tightening over his leg, the bones starting to fracture and crunch under the sheer pressure, parts of his skin splitting down his knee and calf. He screamed and begged but Oleg grabbed Matt's other leg and twisted sharply, snapping the shin bone like a twig, the spear-like break ripping through the boy's muscle and skin with a fresh spray of blood.

His scream soon rattled to a halt and his body went suddenly limp under Oleg's grip when he finally lost consciousness. Oleg swung his limp body and threw him into the ground like a rag doll, snapping suddenly to his senses and looking over his shoulder through the acrid smoke.

"_Kinzie_," he barley muttered, charging then through the hissing flames and throwing aside crates and computers as if they were empty cardboard boxes.

"Kinzie!" He roared out through the ever-growing fire and thickening smoke. The man's heart lurched when there was no response and he continued to search, pulling away flaming wreckage-

He gasped as the sight of a sneaker-clad foot and wrenched aside a large computer monitor, revealing Kinzie's broken and burnt body.

"_Lyubimaya_, no-" he groaned, quickly and carefully as he could scooped her up and using his massive form to shield her from the inferno as he charged back through the warehouse. The fire finally set the sprinklers off, a rush of rain flooding indoors and sending a fresh wave of steam and smoke rushing through the building. Oleg vaulted from the second mezzanine level down to the garage bursting out of the side door into the clear night air.

His breaths were quick and shallow and he gently laid the petite redheaded woman down, pulling off his jacket and wrapping the oversized garment around her then pressing his index finger onto her neck, his own heart standing still as he searched for her pulse.

A small, weak beat responded, and he quickly pulled out his phone, trying to carefully click the numbers with his oversized hands and pressing the receiver to his ear.

"_911 what's your emergency?"_

* * *

The Bootlegger crashed through a set of garbage bins and the tyres screeched as it skidded to a halt – before the car had even stopped properly I flung the drivers door open and leapt out, surveying the scene in an instant.

Three ambulances, a fire truck, and a cop car. The two officers took one look at me, both giving cold frowns and without another thought got back into their car. When it was Saints in trouble they knew not to interfere and not a single officer on the force would argue with that. We were outlaws; and we could take care of our damn selves. The fire crew, who had been standing around trying to argue with Oleg decided after seeing me to take their lead from the cops, and after a moment begrudgingly got back into their truck and left.

I could care less; I strode quickly over to where Oleg was leaning over a gurney, feeling a wave of cold sickness wash right through my blood when I saw the small mop of red hair as the paramedics wheeled the bed into the back of a waiting ambulance. The sirens wailed as soon as the doors were closed, and the red and white truck tore away down the street, Oleg watching as it left.

"Oleg!" I called out as I closed the distance between them, "Oleg what hap-"

"I must be going to hospital," he said. I put a hand on his elbow to try and get him to look at me.

"I know, I'll make a call and get someone to take you there, but- _Oleg!_" I snapped and he looked down at me, the distress clear over his beetle-black eyes, "What _happened?_" I stressed.

"I am not sure – I am setting up satellite on rooftop for Kinzie, then there was being explosion, and I saw stinking _vermin_ Matt Miller trying to escape… Kinzie," he swallowed, "Kinzie was being very badly hurt, my only thought was to get her out of there."

He sounded off; his English was usually good, just heavy with an accent. The stress had him slipping up. "You did good," I promised but I was looking back at the warehouse, still feeling a little sick. There was no smoke but some of the windows were blackened and burnt out.

"Where's Matt now?" I asked. Beside me Oleg shifted.

"He was still being inside. I was not letting fire crews in…"

"Is he alive?"

Oleg didn't answer right away and I resisted the urge to scowl.

"Oleg, _is he still alive?_"

"I am not knowing," he replied without regret. I closed my eyes and nodded.

"Call one of your boys to come round and give you a ride," I said, "I'll take care of Matt."

_God damn it_. Dread washed through me; maybe this was what Angel meant when he said I was relying on Kinzie too much. The thought that her computers, all her technology could be destroyed was bad enough but she herself had become so much of an asset to the gang the thought that she-

… I'd never gotten that close to her and honestly, I'd never wanted to. She was her own person, did things her own way and we were symbiotic more than anything. But still, I didn't want to lose another Saint, not one who'd done so much for the gang.

The warehouse was quiet inside – the echoing sound of water dripping from the rafters was interrupted only by a small huffing sound, like a wounded animal. I felt a dark scowl creep over my eyes as I stepped over the puddles on the concrete, my nose crinkling at the acrid smell of burnt metal and plastic. I climbed the stairs slowly, my scowl growing into a teeth-bared snarl when I saw him.

Miller was barely conscious, shaking and crying as he tried to drag his body along. His legs looked flat and crumpled, bent in ways they shouldn't have been and I gotta admit, it made me smirk. He huffed and whimpered when he saw me, and I slowly walked over to him, relishing the growing fear in his eyes.

"…Well. Looks like you pissed off the wrong Russian," I greeted, "…You better tell me what the fuck happened here or I might just hand you back over to him."

Matt cringed up at me, eyes searching and I knew he was thinking up a lie. I stepped quickly onto his broken ankle and he cried out.

"Uh-uh. If all you're gonna do is lie to me I'm not going to have any use for your sorry ass," I warned and released the pressure as it looked like he was about to pass out. I crouched down next to him.

"Now Matty," I purred dangerously, a hand on his chin to try and make him look at me, "I'm gonna ask you again-"

A small sob broke out of him, "Ph-please," he croaked, "My legs-"

"I noticed. Y'know there's still an ambulance out the front, bet they'd even have some morphine with them… How about you start talking?"

Matt sniffed, his eyes crushing shut.

"I-I d-don't want t-to be part of this a-anymore…" he whimpered, "J-just wanted t-to g-g-o…"

"You got off the hook once before," I warned and he sniffed, drawing a breath to try and steady himself.

"…There were explosives woven in the sides of the bag. A fail safe," he whispered weakly and I felt that delicious dark anger start biting at me again.

"And this little fact just _happened _to slip your fuckin' mind?" I snapped and he cringed, going quiet. I gritted my teeth, "How did you detonate them?"

"I didn't, she must have triggered them-"

"What did I say about lying?" I hissed and he held back a frightened snivel. After a moment, I forced my voice to be softer, "You quit fooling with me Matt, and maybe… _maybe_, I'll let you go again."

"Oh… _bollocks,_" he whimpered, "…it was a cell trigger. She called the number, it set it off."

My eye twitched a little, hearing him and I snarled, a teeth-baring threat, "You know for someone who wants so fuckin' bad to stay alive, you got a nasty habit of pissing people off. Now _how_, Matt, did she get that number? And why should she have been calling it?"

The fear in his eyes melted to guilt for a moment and he looked away, mouthing small words to himself and I snarled. Seeing something in my eyes, his flew wide open and he started to beg again.

"I- I can still help y-_AAAAAA!_"

I'd grabbed him by the collar and started dragging him and naturally, he started screaming. I was thunderous, dark shadows like black storm clouds fogging the corners of my mind and my eyes as something ugly and cruel began taking over again, feeding from the teenager's cries. He shouted out sobs as I dragged him down the stairs, his broken legs thumping uselessly against the concrete.

"I _gave_ you chances Matt. Again and again, I gave you fucking chances." I was on the verge of shouting, "_You're_ the one who keeps fucking himself over."

I dragged him outside and for a moment he had enough strength to start begging me again but I couldn't care anymore.

"Fool me once," I growled lowly and he clawed at my hand. He'd fucked me over after I'd shown him mercy, _more than once_ which is something no other enemy of mine has had the satisfaction of receiving. He tried to kill Kinzie.

And there was a chance he still might succeed.

"What are you doing?" I heard Oleg call out and could feel the heaviness of his footsteps as he chased after me. I dragged Matt to the edge of the wharf, glaring at the glinting waters.

"What are you doing?" Matt echoed weakly, his hands at my wrist. I looked over my shoulder to Oleg, who looked from me, then murderously to Matt. I heaved Matt up and glared into his eyes.

"…I'm letting you go," I said, then before he could so much as scream I heaved his body forward, and threw him into the water. Beside me Oleg was silent. There was a moment after the crashing of the impact before his flailing arms broke the surface again and he started coughing and shouting for help, barely able to keep his face above the water. I felt cold watching him, trying to distance myself and resisting the urge to pull him out, terrifying as I found the notion of drowning. Maybe the only thing I could call a phobia.

"…Oleg?" I offered after a moment. The Russian looked down at me but didn't really reply, so I continued, "There's still a chance he could be useful."

Oleg was a pragmatic man; he suggested keeping Loren's building as a cash cow (I blew it up anyway) and keeping a few barrels of the zombie-gas to see if we could alter it to bring the zombies under our control (instead I dumped it in the water for Mayor Reynolds).

Looking at him now I could see him quietly wrestling with the idea as Matt's flails and struggled began to weaken and grow sluggish. To pull Matt out of the water might be the logical thing to do. But when it comes to the people we love… well. Love makes smart people stupid.

Matt spluttered a few gasping pleas at us as his head began to sink under the water and he grew pale and dizzy from the pain. After a moment, Oleg turned his back and slowly walked away; I looked back to the water, watching as Matt's eyes began to slip closed and he fell unconscious again, his face the only pale smudge visible as he dropped below the surface and out of sight leaving a thin fizzing trail or foam.

A moment later, a breath of large bubbles plopped up to the surface. Then nothing.

* * *

**Bout time she killed him.**


	17. Under the Same Sky

**Don't worry, I'm still alive over here. There was a lot that was written then deleted for this chapter because it was almost two; I realised I really didn't want to be dragging this out any more than I had to, and it still wound up being... long. Anyway, hope this one was worth the wait!**

**PS... it jumps views. A lot.**

* * *

_El Barco Hundido, outside Havana, Cuba_

If there's one thing about the underworld, it's that once you're in it, you're never really out. Criminals and fugitives all flock together and you always find yourself in that one run down bar with the cheapest, watered down booze and a shifty keeper who won't mix anything with more than two ingredients.

_El Barco Hundido_ was that kind of place. Course, I was actually _looking_ for the bar, not easy since most people didn't even know the place existed. It was a hole-in-the-wall down a back alley near some out-of-town docks, paint over the windows, a few decades of grimy posters papering the walls. Kinda reminded me of Rex's back in Stilwater, only when you stepped outside it was a second-world tropical fuckin' paradise with fifty-year old cars trawling the streets, not the half-reworked Sunsinger district.

The guy who ran the place was Esteban Pérez, a man with an indecipherable accent, a moustache that'd make Burt Reynolds feel insignificant, and the fourth name down on the list that Stanislav gave me. Though he fronted as the bar tender around here Esteban was in charge of a heavy trade line up to Florida. People and coke mostly (though most Cubans were finding it easier to go up through Mexico now) but there was a bit of munitions trade going on out back.

I was getting surprised at how much weight the name Volkov carried, 'specially for a guy who'd been out of the business for a while. The second I dropped it and Esteban was all ears – apparently he'd been expecting me and was a decent enough host, could talk underwater with a mouthful of marbles and more than happy to reminisce about the old Russian connection. I was sitting up at the bar; he stood over the other side, easily pouring another spill of white rum into my glass and then did the same for himself.

"Old Stanislav… in the early days he was small time only, even tried to go straight for a while," he continued with an easy nod, "Then his girlfriend or… wife or whoever died and you know, he was never the same. That much anger in one man never lead to a good life…"

He paused to take a sip from his rum, so I decided to press him a bit, "So what then? How'd you get to know him?"

"He was the main enforcer for the Russian mob for some time, before he retired. My brother and I had contracted him on more than one occasion to clean up a few messes…" his eyes went distant for a moment, "There were a few favours owing."

He shrugged then, easily changing the subject, "I hear he runs a _lupanar_ now. A good way to spend your Autumn years. So… how is it you are come to Cuba?"

Ah, the idle talk couldn't last. "A sea-plane from Portugal," I replied dryly and took another swig of the rum. It was too cheap to be this smooth, this shit had to be watered down.

"Explains why you look like something the cat has dragged in and pissed all over," Esteban said with a chuckle, "No offence."

Asshole. "No, it sounded like a compliment," I said flatly and he threw the rum down his throat. Not that I can imagine I looked a picture at the moment; chronic jet lag on top of a few good cuts and bruises wasn't doing me any favours.

"And seein' as I look and feel like ten pounds'a shit I ain't gonna mess with you," I said tiredly, "I need to get to America, and I hear you're the man to make it happen."

Esteban nodded easily, "Do you have cash?"

"I got a thousand Euro."

"A _thousand?_" He said, leaning back from the bar, eyebrows raised, "I never had anyone cross for that cheap."

"_Euro_."

"That does not improve your wealth by that much," he warned, shaking his head and I sighed. Right. Probably only bought it up to thirteen hundred or so. Fuck.

"The plane chewed up most of my assets," I said honestly, "And I know I could say I could hit you back for it when I get to America but hey, why would you trust me? Look I'm willin' to work for that boat ride."

Esteban was quiet for a while, considering me. The only reason he was willing to help me out in the first place was cos Stan must've vouched for me, but I dunno how far that could go.

"I don't doubt it…" Esteban eventually said, then nodded, "I have a problem in Miami. A problem, I think, you could clean up."

"I'm listening."

"A friend of mine used to move my product… and I find out, this friend has been stealing from me." His moustache twitched as he snarled, "I don't care about the money anymore. Money, I have. But this man has insulted me, and I want you to make an example of him. He won't be an easy target."

"Bullets still kill motherfuckers," I said with a wry grin and Esteban chuckled at me. One contract kill, it was almost too easy. "Just gimme a name and a place, and a boat to get there."

Esteban nodded, and pulled a pen from his pocket, writing something down on the back of a paper coaster.

"Your boat will leave tonight at sundown," he said, and I pulled a thick envelope from my jacket pocket, the last of my cash.

"Happy to do business," I replied with a half smile.

* * *

_Saints HQ, Sunset Park, Steelport._

"You wanted to see me?"

I looked up from my computer at Viola's voice; I rarely used the study, office, whatever. But like red-soled shoes, there were some symbols of power and status that were too easy to use. Viola was a professional woman; she was easier to work with in a professional setting.

She stood unobtrusively at the door, dressed like a Star Trek villain or cat burglar. I wondered briefly if that was the intention or if it was just the fitted turtle-neck and black vinyl pants that did it. Wordlessly I closed the email browser on my computer, then leant back into my chair a little more comfortably.

"I've been trying to call you for days," I said coolly and she took a few steps into the room.

"Well, things have been a little hectic," she said with a frown. A short silence hung in the air and she continued, "How is she?"

Kinzie… I drew a slow breath. "Comatose. Though considering how mangled she is right now, I'm pretty sure she'd be glad."

"…And Matt's dead?" Viola asked. I tried to read her expression but her eyes were a stony as mine could be. My response was short and flat.

"Yes."

"He was only seventeen-"

"I gave him chances Viola," I shot back quickly and she pursed her lips, "_Plenty_ of chances. Him trying to kill one of my Saints was the last straw."

She nodded, resignedly dropping down into a seat around the other side of my desk.

"…Were you close to him?" I asked thoughtfully and she raised her eyebrows at me, eventually shaking her head.

"The Syndicate wasn't like the Saints. Loren was my boss; Killbane and Matt were co workers," she said, then added after a lengthy pause, "No. It's nothing like the Saints."

I nodded, but it was time to get down to business.

"Viola… Matt said that Johnny was still alive," I said stonily, "Do you know anything about that?"

Viola blinked at me, seeming surprised and I tried to gauge how genuine it was. "No. Loren was a man who always kept his cards to his chest," she said, and a crease formed on her brow, "Kiki and I jumped the plane before he did and we were told Gat's body was never retrieved."

"You were Loren's right hand girls and he _never_ spoke to you about what happened on that plane?"

"Only that Johnny had attempted to single-handedly highjack the flight and that he was killed doing so," she said heatedly and I felt an icy glare cross my face. Another tense silence held, and she buckled first. "What did Matt say exactly?"

"That Loren had been holding Gat somewhere in Belgium and that he escaped," I said flatly. It hardly seemed real, like I was describing the plot of a movie, "That he'd spotted him somewhere in Brussels but after that, nothing. I can't decide if he'd be making it all up."

"I wouldn't put it past Matt to lie…" Viola mused, "But I wouldn't put _anything_ past Loren either."

I felt a heavy breath rush from my nose; it wasn't helpful. I'd hoped for more. A scraping of a chair across from me told me Viola has shuffled her seat in closer to the desk and I lifted my pensive gaze back up to her.

"Either way, it's irrational to not follow up on it, if there's even a smallest chance that he's alive," she said. I have to admit; sometimes I really did like her pragmatism. She folded her hands on the table, "He shouldn't be too hard to track. Get yourself some satellite pictures of Europe and follow the smoking trail of destruction."

"…Wait – _yes!_" Like that my mind snapped, waves of ideas and realisations crashing down over me; it was a weird way my brain worked sometimes, just a sudden explosion of understanding. I stood sharply form my seat and Viola leant back, surprised.

"Viola, we need to search news feeds, keep an eye out for crime sprees, robberies, anything that might look a bit unusual. Do the TVs at the old Syndicate safehouses get… I dunno, European CNN or something?"

"Our TVs get _everything_," she said and I nodded.

"Then we put it on European news stations, twenty-four-seven-"

Viola seemed sparked with the same thoughts I was, "And get the crew at Burns Hill watching news websites-"

"And… try to think of where he would have gone," I finished, my energy fizzling a little as I became thoughtful again, wracking my mind for more ideas.

"Has he got any friends over there?" Viola pressed and I shook my head.

"Not that I remember. No."

"Well where would _you_ go?"

A thick silence fell. I felt a little reluctant to say the name that crossed my mind.

"…Stan."

"Who?"

"Stan he's…" I twisted my lips and tried to choose how to continue, "A man connected to the Russian mob but I dunno if Gat would remember him or know where to look."

"…Sounds like it's worth a shot," Viola said, crossing her arms over her chest, "Shake every tree."

I could only nod.

* * *

_Gulf of Mexico, ten miles north of La Boca_

We never really had much to do with the Cubans. Columbians, sure, but Cubans were more of a south-coast kind. You could tell cos all the boats they had were _fine_ speedsters they jacked from Miami then repainted and ripped the GPS's out of. Course the boat doesn't seem so luxurious when you got it packed with immigrants but hey, better than a fishing trawler.

There was this couple, a young couple. When I say young I mean it, the girl might have still been in her teens, her boyfriend didn't look much older. They were curled up on the other side of the boat and he was sort of over her, protective. When he saw me looking he glared and tugged her tighter, which made her shift and change positions.

Awe shit…

_Huge_ belly on her. They'd left the trip a bit late by the looks of it, probably spent the last few months scrimping enough to get the money just to get to America. Too bad. Looking at her, I couldn't be sure she'd be up for the swim that was coming once we hit American waters. Hell, I couldn't be sure if _I_ was.

I road up nearer the bow; now technically being one of Esteban's crew I had to play lookout, not a bad gig seeing as I got a gun in case of pirates. I thought he'd been joking about the 'pirates' thing, but apparently it wasn't too unusual to get shipments intercepted by rivals. Rules were that we toss the guns overboard if the coast guard picked us up. Well, _their_ rules. Me, I'll just kill the motherfuckers and jack the boat, cruise back over to Florida.

Almost made me _want_ to get caught.

Still, the ocean was wide and empty and I was pretty sure it'd be too dark soon to be able to see anything at all. Just had to wait now, and try and not sleep.

* * *

_Saints HQ, Sunset Park, Steelport._

Sleeping. What a concept. Even when my body began crying for rest, my mind wouldn't let it happen. How could I _sleep_ at a time like this anyway? I sat down on the steps to the pool, idly hanging a bottle of beer between my fingers, my phone in my other hand. The noise of downtown echoed around me, and the lights of the buildings were dancing gold and purple. The city was somehow more alive tonight, or maybe that was just me.

I breathed out slowly, staring at my phone for a moment before I began dialling the number. I put the receiver to my ear, waiting while it connected then held my breath when it began ringing. How long had it been? Years now, not since he randomly showed up in Stilwater… on the third ring the line was picked up.

"_Da?_"

I couldn't answer right away. It was a female voice, weirdly familiar as it growled something angrily in Russian at me.

"Who's this?" I growled down the line, "I wanna talk to Stan."

There was a pause on the other end, and eventually, the woman started speaking again.

"_Who is this?"_

"I asked you first, I'm calling for Stanislav not some-"

"_Stanislav is not being available. I am Mistress Perestroika and you are calling Sluwe Vos."_

No fucking patience for this bitch right now… "Yeah, well you can tell _Stanislav_ it's his fucking daughter calling," I shot darkly.

There was utter silence on the other end of the line, and if it wasn't for the noise in the background I'd have thought we'd been disconnected. As the silence stretched, I felt a weird wave of unease.

"…_You… are being the one he is calling 'Tigr', da?"_

"Uh… Tiger, yeah," I said lowly, not sure what to make of what she was saying.

"_I am… not knowing how to be telling you. Stanislav died yesterday."_

"…Oh." The sound wandered out of my mouth. What a… strange bit of information. That Stan died. I frowned and ran my hand through my hair, "Stanislav _Volkov?_" I pressed, to be sure.

"_Da."_

I felt a little cold then, uncertain, unwell. I hadn't been… expecting that. "What happened?" I asked hollowly.

"_He was being shot a few nights ago…"_ the melancholic voice replied quietly,_ "He fought it, but he could not pull through."_

"…Shot? In _Amsterdam-?_" I asked. That sounded wrong… then I realised with a sharp jolt it meant my father had been murdered. "Who the fuck shot him?"

"_Little Japanese mudak,"_ the voice hissed, suddenly cruel and furious,_ "She was being here after Amerikan man who visited Stanislav."_

"American? Wait wait, who was _he?_" I pressed suddenly.

"_He is calling himself Johnny Gat, is looking like him too… I am not knowing what they are speaking of, but Stanislav considered him a friend, that much I know… Hello? Are you there…?"_

"What?" I said lightly when I realised I hadn't said anything. My mind was tumbling over itself and I shook my head hard, "Oh, yeah I… I'm just trying to get my head around all this… what happened to Johnny?"

"_Stanislav gave him gun, money, telling him to escape," _the woman said frostily,_ "Little assassin whore and her friends are chasing him, I am not hearing from him since."_

I swallowed carefully, my body reacting to emotions I couldn't quite work out. My stomach was doing back-flips, my heart thumped hard and painful in my ribs. When I spoke again my voice was weird and restrained, "…Did you speak to him?"

"_Da. I am entertaining him like I am being asked to. And he is saying he has someone very important to be getting home to…"_ she stopped then, and when she spoke again, her voice was suddenly very gentle, as if she'd just realised something,_ "I wish I could be telling you more."_

"I'm sorry about Stan." I don't know why I said that.

"…_He was your father, not mine. Stanislav was not having a will. If you are being all that is left of his family-"_

I was shaking my head and made disagreeing noises before I formed my protest into words, "I don't want anything," I said quickly, "You running the business over there now?"

"_Da."_

"Then keep it. Do your thing. I never really knew him well enough to take anything that belonged to him," I said flatly. The woman on the other line made an uncertain sound.

"_I think there are some things he wanted you to have. Please, let me send them to you. Is least I can be doing for him now."_

Ah what the hell… it's just stuff. "Okay. Jeanette Kim, PO Box 273 New Calvin Steelport."

"_Let me… be writing down…"_

I paused then repeated the name to her.

"You uh… you take care of shit over there," I said a little awkwardly, still clumsily handling the new information, "Any problems, y'know, you can call me."

"_And what are you doing then?"_

"…Taking care of it," I assured her, then after a beat, "Talk to you later."

"_One more thing, Tigr,"_ she said swiftly as I was about to hang up and I put the receiver to my ear again.

"Hmn?"

"…_Be killing Japanese suka."_

The sheer malice in her voice somehow highlighted my own apathy. Some bitch had killed my father… I felt my mouth pull back into a cold sneer.

"As good as done."

I ended the call, staring at my phone for some time. No… sleeping was just not an option. Stan was dead… Johnny was alive, and Stan was dead. I felt like I should have been reacting, shouting, running, doing _something_. _Feeling_ something. Stanislav was dead. Gone. Well I should hardly care, should I?

…Should I?

I looked up at the sky; no matter how clear the night was the light pollution from Downtown made it nearly impossible to see the stars. But I could spot Venus, sitting just a little way from the moon. Or what was left of the moon, a thin half ring of light sitting on the horizon, ready to disappear when the hour passed.

I took a slow swig of my beer, feeling the last frothy dregs spread over my tongue and I looked at the sky again… that endless dark blanket, covering every last one of us.

* * *

I slumped back on a bundle of old nets, folding my hands behind my head. Not the most comfortable bed but it beat the wooden deck, and after fuck-knows how many hours of staring out at a black ocean, I think I deserved a bit of rest. Christ, I was gonna need it.

The stars are brighter out on the ocean, no city lights, no smog, just the ocean air. I wasn't too good at recognising constellations – I could pick out Orion but that was about it. When we were kids back on the Row I remember the Boss pointing out a few basic ones, Big Dipper, Scorpio, Capricorn. How many times she'd tried to show me which 'star' was actually Venus I don't know, and now I just try to find the brightest thing in the sky and guess that's it. But they were all clear tonight – not quite a new moon. I propped myself up on my elbows and glanced around the horizon; it was sitting just above the water, lookin' like the Cheshire Cat's smile. Should be set by the time we hit Miami making it dark enough to keep us out of the sights of the coast guard.

The night was nearly black and the only light came from the city, glowing on the horizon.

Miami. A thin strip of orange and gold light.

I heard shouts back down the boat, and glared over my shoulder. The 'captain' came rushing out from his cabin, yelling at everyone on the boat; they were all instantly up slinging their packs onto their backs and running to the edge of the boat, jumping into the water. I frowned when I saw that young couple, the young woman with the swollen belly getting lead to the edge with her boyfriend, husband, whoever. They both looked out over the ocean before making the leap into the water; she was holding onto some sort of small buoy thing, the white balls used to help hold up nets in the water. Fucked if I know how that was supposed to help her.

"Time to go friend," one of the crew called over to me and indicated to the water. _Shit_. We had to be at least a mile off shore but they weren't going to risk getting any closer and tempt fate with the coast guard.

I knew this had been coming though; it wasn't going to be a door-to-door service. I stretched my arms climbed up onto the edge of the boat, giving one last look out to Miami, then drew a breath, and dove on in.

The water was colder than I thought it'd be; I broke the surface again and didn't wait, just started kicking and pulling myself through the water. Keep calm, take it easy, arm over head, arm over head…

The group was fragmenting a bit, not wanting to stick too close together. Easier target if they stuck together… worked for me. Every man for himself.

Some of the others were already falling behind; I wondered for a moment if any were going to make it to shore. I was. I'd make it. Hey, I liked the beach. Back in Stilwater I bought a place that looked out over the water (it got blown up, but still. Nice land). And I was a good swimmer, always had been. This swim wouldn't be a problem, if I can walk that far, I can swim it.

Affirmations. Stops me from thinking about how fucking far I really am from the shore. Dunno if they really work or not but I guess I'd find out, though I guess thinking happy thoughts about sharks not being there isn't gonna stop one from showing up.

Swimming wasn't hard at first; I could look around, see who was still keeping up. That couple were still sticking together… Others were gone.

_Don't think about them_, I warned myself. My lungs were starting to get sore, it's weird having to breathe in such short bursts for so long.

_You're almost home. Only a mile and you're home._ I drew a deep breath and kicked harder through the water.

* * *

I kicked my legs slowly through the water, looking at my skin curiously, all wobbly and cyan. My feet were starting to get wrinkly and numb, I must've had them in the water for a half hour now…

_Brooding, what a change of pace._

I smiled; Gat's voice ran through my head so clearly he might have been sitting right next to me. It was fucking _maddening_. I'd done so much since I got back, I had every resource the Saints had thrown at finding him. I had the jets waiting and ready, I'd called Stan and… and I couldn't think of anything else to do.

It wasn't so easy without Kinzie. We were slower, not to mention that supercomputer of hers had been damaged in that explosion so now we had the crew trying to repair that as well… no, now we were back to the old fashioned methods. Searching out rumours, calling in connections, trying to predict where he'd go.

Eventually, there's only so much you can do.

A familiar nudge at my elbow, and Trouble nuzzled into me, dropping a large paw over my leg. I absently scratched at his ears and he made contented grumbles.

"…My dad died yesterday Trubs," I said quietly. The tiger seemed to ignore me, reminding me that intuitive though the animal was, he didn't actually understand English. Why did I even say that to him? It was a stupid thing to state. Why should I care? I hardly knew the man, why would I care that he was dead?

I lifted my chin, slowly kicked my legs through the water, and looked out to the lights of Downtown, purple and gold, garish and tacky.

* * *

Miami's orange and gold lights were the only thing I could focus on and think about.

_You're nearly there. Just a little further._

I was getting slower, I could feel it. My strokes were sluggish. I was getting tired. I'd try and take a break and look up, but land just never seemed any closer and the salt was in my nose and mouth.

There was a soft cough not far over, some splashes getting frantic. I slowed, catching my breath and treading water for a bit – a few yards off and that young woman from before splashed about a bit, that buoy thing she'd been holding onto dropping lower into the water and sinking out of sight. She was gasping a bit then gave a grunt, determinedly swimming for the shore again. I couldn't see her man anywhere.

Part of me said I should leave her. I mightn't make it to shore myself if I had her ass slowing me down or getting picked up by the coast guard.

"Hey!" I shouted over to her, "Keep swimming bitch, you're nearly there!"

She flailed a bit, looking at me, then started up again. I kicked harder, seeing the lights of the city, closer now. I could hear the breakers rushing up on the sand. And I could still hear that woman crying as she tried to swim.

God. Damn. Conscience.

I veered towards her, and she began splashing about a bit more, her fingers reaching out for me.

"Hold on alright," I coughed over the salt water as I got close – she was gasping and blubbering something in Spanish at me, her cold steely hands desperately grabbing at my arms.

She was freaking out and I knew if I got any closer she'd pull me down with her. I grunted and did the only thing I could think of – and cracked my palm over her face. She shrieked, but it seemed to knock some sense into her, and I grabbed the back of her collar with my left hand, and started side-stroking along. I promised myself if she got too much I'd let her go.

After a moment I felt her kicking, trying to help. She was blubbering something at me again.

"Shuh'th'fuckup," I huffed at her, trying to find a decent pace to swim at, find a rhythm. But it wasn't easy, I was getting tired, the water felt like it wasn't supporting me anymore. And even with the girl trying to help swim along to the shore, it was slower and harder than I thought.

But I could hear the breakers. It was hard to breathe, my head kept dropping below the surface and water was in my mouth again and again. But it was fine. If dragging her was too much, I'd let her go, just like I'd promised myself. It wasn't too much right now.

A wave rolled into us from behind, but did nothing to help us get in. Not till we made it to the breakers.

"Aight, _kick_," I coughed over at her and she gave a strained cry, her feet suddenly kicking harder for a short burst before weakening again. I could get to shore for certain, if I just let her go… but only if it got to be too much. It wasn't too much, not yet…

The water seemed to give from under us and I had to struggle to keep my head up as another wave rolled under us; and broke just in front. Nearly there. If we could ride a breaker in… the water sucked back behind us and I felt the next wave coming. I could catch it, we'd catch it…

I drew a deep breath and heard the girl do the same as the first breaker lifted us up and we dropped over the lurch; I should have let her go then, but that fabric stayed clenched in my hand and her fingers wrapped around my wrist. I was too exhausted to fight the water, kicking along with it as the bubbles and foam swirled everywhere till I couldn't tell which way was up, but right at that point, my feet hit the sand beneath me.

_Jesus, Allah, Buddha, I love you all._

I kept dragging us through the water, the girl flailing as she tried to help pull herself along – another breaker crashed into us from behind and I fell forward, but the waters were getting shallower, and the waves were getting weaker.

Finally… _finally_, we stumbled up onto the sand.

My legs at last gave out then and I dropped to the beach, my stomach churning over itself and I threw up what must've been a half gallon of seawater. I was shaking, cold, exhausted… but I watched my fingers curl through the sand and I looked up, a short, weak laugh beating out of my chest.

_America…_ God _fucking_ bless America!

* * *

**FINALLY home!**


	18. My Boyfriend's Back

***Whimsical sigh***

**Thanks as always for the reviews guys! Really gave me the oomph to polish this chapter off, which is great because I've been _dying_ to post it since I started this fic! Again, this flip-flops between POVs quite a bit...**

* * *

_Saints HQ, Sunset Park, Steelport_

I was sitting up on the bar, a laptop next to me and two TVs rolling some European news stations. I could _feel_ the bags growing under my eyes, but if I hadn't slept yet, it technically wasn't morning. At least I think that's how it works. The elevator doors slid open then, unleashing noise into the haven, clanging and banging as someone started wheeling in a keg, and Pierce loudly talking over someone else. I glared at the small crew as the swept into the HQ.

"Fucks sake…" I growled, "Can't a woman drink alone on a Tuesday morning anymore?"

No one replied and I realised it might have been more of a grumble than a growl, so I cleared my throat, "Today is really not the day to be having a party," I shot at them, and Pierce stopped, looking up at me with wide-eyes. King of the inappropriate bash…

"Yeah but don't you think it'd look suspicious if we're quiet?" He asked then and I could only raise an eyebrow. He shrugged, strolling over to the bar as his crew got to setting up, "Besides, it's good for morale."

I felt my nose scrunch with annoyance, "_Morale?_ Tell them to hit up the flop." I swirled my glass of vodka and Saints Flow, about to take another sip before something hit me, "And why would it be suspicious?"

Pierce just tilted his head with a sarcastic smile, "Yeah cos it's not a big day or anything."

"What?"

"…Boss it's the _Fourth of July_."

I blinked, "…Oh shit, it is isn't it…?" Stupid fucking holidays. I sighed, throwing the last of my drink down my throat and shrugging, going back to my laptop and refreshing the page, "Well you're taking care of it right?"

"Yeah it's no problem," Pierce said, "Z's bringin' some of his best girls around, we're getting' a band organised – Muse couldn't make it this time, they tourin'."

I shared his short chuckle, "Bummer."

"Yeah but I got a few'o my boys from the industry. And just for you, this _fine _little punk band we just signed, Snatch Wax."

I snorted and raised an eyebrow at him, "_Snatch Wax?_"

"Uh-huh," he said with a smile and I drummed my fingers thoughtfully.

"…I like'm already."

"Damn straight," Pierce said, but I must've looked a little too disinterested as I kept scrolling through the web page, because he nudged me and started pressing.

"It's gonna be _the shit_, we got pyrotechnics, fireworks, c'mon."

"_Okay_ I'll put in an appearance," I conceded with a heavy sigh and I could _feel_ him roll his eyes at me, "Just don't expect me to hosting this thing I h-"

"Hate parties, I know."

"…Any news on Kinzie?" I asked after a thoughtful moment. Pierce leant heavily against the bar next to me.

"Doctors say she was awake for a little while there, but she comes and goes, y'know?"

I nodded, "Oleg?"

"Doesn't really leave the hospital." Pierce tilted his head to get a look at the screen, "Whatchoo lookin' at?"

"California, Texas, Florida." I glared at the screen and rubbed an eye, trying to focus. When I continued talking after that it was more to myself than to Pierce.

"Trying to think… where I would go. How to get back. Going up through Mexico would be easiest but most of our connections are with the Columbians…"

Pierce clapped a hand onto my shoulder, "Boss, get some _sleep_."

"Get a decent _tailor_," I mimicked back dryly and he smirked.

"Well someone rush me to the fuckin' burn unit," he teased back, then eased off, "Aight I'm gonna get this shit taken care of. You take it easy Boss."

I only hummed my reply, clicking one of the TVs over to a Florida news feed.

* * *

_South Miami Heights_

The house was a single level place in a nice enough neighbourhood, but had the telltale signs. Plastic drums out the front in the bushes, paint over the windows. I checked the address again to be sure, then stepped up to the back door, lifting my foot and kicking the flimsy screen in.

"Hector!" I shouted through the house, gripping my new gun in both hands. I know; get back to America and the first thing I do is _get a fuckin' gun_. Not that I had cash. _But_ I did spot a cop on his own who happened to have a _nice_ new Kobra. One nap and a bucket of Bazooms later, and I was here to clean up Esteban's 'problem' (hey, I'm a man of my word). The house was grungy and beat up inside; there was a groan from the couch as I walked in and a blonde girl barley opened her eyes to me before carelessly slumping down again. I heard someone stumble through the house.

"Checkers man, you're early-"

Hector scowl became wide-eyed shock when he turned out of the short hallway and saw me. I lifted my aim at him and he shouted a sudden cuss, ducking behind a table and ripping a gun he'd had taped under there.

"Shit! Listen you fucker you get the _fuck_ outta my house or I'll fuckin' plug you asshole!"

He was a scrawny guy, one of those dealers who got a little too into their own product, his head covered with a thin crown of stubble and his eyes dark and sunk in his rat-face. He was aiming the gun at me with a shaky, thin arm.

"Nice piece," I said with a shrug, eying the gun I was gonna soon add to my arsenal, "I mean it's no Krukov but hey, I ain't gonna get picky."

"Hector, who'th'fuck is this?" the girl on the sofa barely groaned and Hector was about to snap something at her.

"I'm a friend of Esteban," I said coolly, fixing Hector with a dark glare and the dealer shrunk back, his hand shaking. I smirked, "So you gotta be pretty sure why I'm here."

"Listen… I can get you money," Hector suddenly gushed, "Drugs, whatever you want. You tell Esteban I can… I know some bitches I can send him-"

I felt my eye twitch when he nodded to the half-conscious girl on the sofa. "Y'know even when I was dirt fuckin' poor I fuckin' hated people tryin' to buy me off," I growled.

"God _damn_, who the fuck you think you are you fuckin' slope?" Hector hissed, jolting his gun towards me but not willing to take a shot while mine was aimed between his eyes. I felt myself glare it him; I was getting used to seeing without my glasses, and this guy held his gun on the side, tilting it like he was holding the thing with a broken wrist. It could've looked intimidating if I was a complete fucking moron.

"Someone who knows how to hold a gun shithead."

He fired the same second I did; I could hear the bullets shoot past me and didn't even flinch, they just opened a few holes in the plaster behind me.

Mine opened a few holes in his head.

The sudden explosion of noise disappeared just as quickly, the only sound a whimpering from the sofa. That girl that had been on the couch was too wasted to really do much except give a few confused yelps and flop onto the floor.

"Oh shit… fuck man…" she muttered, crawling towards the wall and away from the splatter of blood and brains. I waved the gun at her casually.

"You got a car or something?" I asked and she rolled purplish eyes at me.

"I… what?" she asked, slumping onto the carpet and staring wide eyed at her almost-headless dealer. "Yeah… oh shit what did you do to him?"

"You wanna give me the keys to that car?" I pressed as I leant down and took the custom Vice 9 from the dead dealer's hand. The girl groaned, closing her eyes.

"In the bowl. By the door." She started crying a bit then lazily passed out. Eh, she'd be fine. I spun the new gun around my fingers and holstered it in my belt, strolling back over to the door, scooping the keys out of the bowl. _Estrada_. A bike, not a car. Still, good enough.

"Right. Remember, you didn't see shit," I said lazily over my shoulder then realised again she wasn't conscious anyway. Not that it mattered, she'd be pretty useless as a witness.

* * *

_Saints HQ, Sunset Park, Steelport_

I cracked my neck and yawned, slipping up to my feet to stretch. I was about to wander off outside for a break when something on the TV caught my attention. It was a Miami station, breaking news…

"_A shocking scene only moments ago; shots were fired in this quiet suburban street in South Miami Heights; so far reports indicate two casualties of the fire fight."_

The scene cut to a cop giving a statement, _"Inspection of the property revealed large stashes of methamphetamine including a lab. As there are no signs of theft we believe this may be a personal or gangland attack."_

It cut back to the reporter for only a moment; _"Witnesses claim to have seen an Asian man believed to be in his early thirties leaving the scene; police are currently combing the area."_

It cut away again for a moment to what I guessed was camera phone footage. I frowned and stepped forward at the screen, glaring at the blurry image and feeling something… _instinctive_ swirling in my stomach. The person was barely captured on the screen, getting onto a bike and riding off but…

I scrambled for the remote, fumbling with the buttons to try and get TiVo working, freezing the frame, rewinding it, freezing again.

I could barley make the figure out… but I narrowed my eyes, lips parting slightly as my jaw dropped when I began recognising the tattoos. I didn't have to see his face to know it. The most primal part of me already knew it.

The ground disappeared from under my feet.

Then I realised I was running. I slammed out of the glass door and vaulted over the short wall, racing around the edge of the pool to the helipad and the waiting F69 VTOL and I leapt up to the cockpit, ripping open the glass casing. I could hear someone in the crew shouting after me but I shut it out when I clambered into the pilot's seat and slammed the top closed after me.

I can't even remember thinking. I just remember feeling the burning, unstoppable drive, the same rush when I was speeding towards Maragac Island for Shaundi, Burt and Viola. Nothing else mattered, the world was blocked out. As I started up the VTOL and lifted into the air, my playlist kicked in blasting the old 80's rock out of the external speakers.

"Hold on, I'm coming…" I muttered, wrenching the controls to face the plane south before flipping the switch.

"_Flight mode, engaged."_

The F69 vibrated for a moment before I was slammed back into the seat, the plane shooting forward and out of Steelport.

* * *

It's easy to forget how small Stilwater actually is; being on islands everything kept close, but Miami sprawled right up the coast. Now Esteban's 'problem' was taken care of I was gonna see about getting the hell back north to Stilwater, though that'd mean ditching the bike and finding something a bit more road-trip worthy. Little Havana in Miami's CBD was probably the best place to go when the heat was on and I didn't have much of a head start either. It meant I also had to take the scenic route in there to avoid the sirens and cop cars that were starting to comb the area. Fuckin' pigs. I swear, when I get my Krukov back I'm taking it out for a joyride.

I spotted the Venom Classic in a back alley lot just off a main road in Lemon City; impossible to pass up. T-roof convertible, same as the first car I ever tricked out (and the Boss wound up permanently borrowing but that's another story). I smirked, strolling over to the car; the paint was flaked off it but the seats inside looked like the original leather. I leant over into the car, then gave a quick glance around the lot.

It was a flash from the corner of my eye – a lens flare to anyone else but when you been around guns as much as me, you know the bullet's coming before you hear the sound.

I flinched back at the shot and a pothole opened on the bricks behind me; I dove behind the Venom and whipped the stolen Vice-9 and the KA-1 Kobra out, jutting out from the cover and firing on the targets when they were pausing to reload. Women, in black, with those _yellow fucking flags_. Some managed to reload faster than others and were quickly trying to get off some shots as they ran for cover; bullets shot past me and I felt a few graze me but those skanks weren't fast enough. They jolted and fell back, blood blossoming on their chests and heads as I unloaded the clips. Not a huge fan of Vice 9's and Kobras; Shepherds or GDHCs usually have a bit more grunt behind them… more reliable too.

The Vice clicked empty just as I pulled the trigger at the last one; I couldn't fuckin' believe it when I saw her, short little woman, slowly walking over, a snarl over her baby face.

That Akuji fuckin' _cocksucker. How the hell was she here?_

She was wearing just a skirt and vest, still with the yellow flags. But her arms, _both_ had casts, one up to the elbow from the bone I broke and the other just covering the hand, missing two fingers. The fucked thing was the blades that had been plastered _right into the damn things_. I glared at her as she sauntered over, as bruised and beatup as me.

"How the _fuck_ are you still alive?" I growled at her and she snarled back.

"You really think I would be stopped so easily?" she spat at me, "You left a trail that was too easy to decipher. _Esteban?_ It took time, but we wrung what we needed from him." She swung her arms and the blades made a cold whistling sound as they cut through the air. "We have unfinished business, _kono yarou_."

I braced my stance, and cracked my neck.

"You wanna die so bad?" I growled, "Let's do this."

She gave a banshee shriek, and charged.

* * *

The F69 was faster than I'd thought; I'd never had the chance to really open it up before but I gotta say, I was impressed. Georgia had long since vanished under me and I was starting to think again. It was like I was reaching through the veil and had grabbed a hold of something, and no matter what, I couldn't let it go.

I drummed my fingers over the controls, grinning as an echoing guitar riff kicked in, and I felt my shoulders start bopping along.

"_We'll be fighting in the streets, with our children at our feet!"_

"And the morals that they worship will be gone-" I sang along and took my hands from the controls briefly to mash my fingers over an air guitar, grabbing back at the controls as the F69 started to dip out of it's trajectory. The jet lurched at my enthusiastic conduction again and the music continued to blast in the cockpit and out of the speakers, heralding me as I crossed Florida, my heart a humming bird in my ribcage.

"But the world looks just the same, and hist-o-ry ain't changed, 'cause the banners, they all flown in the last war…"

On the horizon, the shining obelisks of Miami began to rise against the thin backdrop of the ocean and I grinned-

"Pick up my guitar and play _nerNERnernernerner_, just like yes_ter_day, and I'll get on my knees and prayyy… _We don't get fooled again!_" I cheered, "Don't get fooled again!"

"_No no!_"

* * *

Me and the girl were locked; I was stronger but she was slippery as ever, it was like wrestling with a snake. Her nose was crushed and bloody where I'd landed my knee into her face My shirt was cut and I felt stinging slices opened here and there on me where she'd managed to cut me; our fight had spilled out onto the street but I couldn't care. I just wanted to get my hands on her throat and _break her fucking neck._

She gave an animalistic snarl at me, trying to twist my arm-

I heard sirens and screaming tyres and from the corner of my eye saw flashing lights. The pigs started jumping from their cars.

"FREEZE! MDPD! _Drop your weapons!_"

Ah _cops_. They can never be fucked to get in the middle of gang fights in Stilwater unless civilians were getting involved, outlaws were outlaws there. Course these assholes clearly didn't work like that. I swung the girl and put her between me and the cop cars that were closing in, not that her scrawny ass covered much. I pressed the gun to her temple, glaring over her head as the cops kept jumpin' from their cars, taking cover behind the doors and aiming their NR4's at me. The girl was still spitting something at me in Japanese.

Among the cop cars two silver Hummers roared to a stop. A man dressed totally in black had slipped out of the drivers' side of one – he stuck out, bright red hair, aviators covering his eyes and a detective's badge clipped to his belt. He trained his gun on me, slowly advancing.

"You've got nowhere to run," he called out but his voice was surprisingly cool, "Let the girl go, put your hands over your head."

_Pft_. I gave him a flat look and glanced about looking for the easiest way to get out of this. Hey, I been in tighter spots.

_Throw the girl. Dive for cover behind that car, take a few out, wait for one to close in, grab him, human shield, take his weapon… I if can steal a cop car or that Hummer I'm g-_

My planning got interrupted by the weirdest fuckin' noise. At first I thought it was just a passing car with the stereo too loud but it started getting louder real quick. A riff, like a synthetic scale to a song I swore I knew but couldn't quite place just then. The cops, the detective, even the girl I had a stranglehold on went quiet and looked up as drums suddenly rattled shortly over the riff… then again, the music rising and piling up to a crescendo over the sound of… _jet engines?_ A single hoarse scream hollered out through the music.

"_YYEEEEEEAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!_"

My jaw dropped when the jet swung into view. The bright fucking purple fighter jet, screaming down between the buildings towards us with The Who belting out of it's speakers.

"_Meet the new Boss, same as the old Boss!"_

"…I _love_ that woman," I grinned.

The cops began scrambling as the jet flew over, a hiss and a deep _boom_ as it released two _fucking missiles_ on the cars; the noise was deafening and the shockwave lifted the Hummers clear off the ground in two giant fireballs, blowing the surrounding cop cars to the side and even sending me and the girl falling backwards. She took the chance to wriggle away from me, instantly swinging her leg to kick me again, hitting the gun out of my hand.

_Fuck_ this bitch! I lunged at her, grabbing a fistful of hair in one hand and the back of her shirt in another, grunting and swinging the girl, slamming her down onto the ground, heading a heavy thud as her head cracked onto the road.

Around me the cops were high-tailin' or pulling their injured or dead friends back from the burning cars – above the jet gave a whine as it shifted and started to hover, the guitar riffs belting out of it as she kept firing on the cops with what looked like a god damn _laser_. They burned and shrivelled like ants under a magnifying glass, their skin so suddenly blackening as they burst into flames- it would have been gruesome if it wasn't so _fuckin' awesome_.

The Akuji Bitch was distracted for the same moment, but had snapped herself out of it, flipping over and twisting my arm as she did – I felt a chunk of her hair rip out in my grip but she didn't seem to care, just went to attack me again. I charged into my loose grip on her, giving a furious grunt as I threw her tiny body off me and she bounded and rolled along the other side of the road, instantly back on her feet and snarling, about to charge a third time-

The air shook with an angry electric whine, like a robotic wasp – I stumbled back quickly as the thick, white-hot laser shot down at the ground between me and the girl, blasting the road with so much heat the tar cracked and bubbled. The bitch shrieked and began running as the laser zigzagged after her and she dove for cover inside a now-abandoned coffee chain.

I looked up at the jet, the music that was still blasting from its speakers hitting a few last dramatic, staccato chords as it fired two missiles into the building after her.

I shielded my eyes as the fireball blasted out of the building, the front crumbling and collapsing in on itself as glass, metal and bricks flew out pelting the already destroyed cars. There was no more shouting from the cops, if they weren't dead they'd retreated. Just the now soft humming from the VTOL as it slowly lowered itself onto the road, the wide wings bumping a little awkwardly on the cars as it touched down.

I'd started slowly walking towards it, waiting for the cockpit top to spring open. I can't really explain it, the sheer _relief_. It was like coming home after a really long day of getting punched in the kidneys.

The lid of the cockpit lifted with a pneumatic hiss, and she hopped out. She barely moved when her feet touched the ground and she saw me, only slowly pushing the aviators off her eyes.

* * *

No one ever looked so perfectly at home in a street that was blown to hell. I could barely move, seeing him standing there a few yards off… the differences were small; his hair had been sawn shorter, his eyes weren't hidden by his glasses, and his smile was half and lopsided… but it was _him_. The same uneven slouch when he walked, the tattoos, the voice-

"Yo bout time you showed up," he called out so casually I couldn't help but grin when he continued, "Though I gotta say, you really need to learn to make an entrance."

Like that the spell on my body broke. In a few fast strides I closed the space between us and before I could even jump into the embrace, strong arms scooped me up and I was crushed into that familiar firm body, my feet swinging clear off the ground as I wrapped my arms tightly around his neck and shoulders. I buried my face into the crook of his neck, breathing deeply and flooded with the warm, _slightly_ sweet male scent, muddled with ash and gunpowder and sweat, and I heard him give a blissful groan into my hair.

"Shit, _Johnny_," I mumbled into his neck, the only coherent thought in my mind. He still had one arm tight around my middle but brought a hand up to run over my hair before squeezing me tighter. A thousand different feelings were swirling chaotically in my chest, hot and swelling and wanting to burst out of me I felt a small sound, a sob or maybe a laugh hiccoughed out of me and he chuckled darkly.

"Oh _bullshit_, are you crying?" I heard him try to joke and I weakly thumped him, pulling back only enough so I could look at him. It wasn't easy – I was amazed to find my vision was starting to fog with hot tears… it had been years since I last cried and I don't think I can ever remember crying from happiness. I sniffed and blinked a few times, quickly wiping at my eyes and leaning my forehead against his chest in case any escaped. I felt him run a hand over my hair again, gently letting my feet touch the ground.

"Hey, c'mon," he mumbled gently this time and I sniffed again, my throat feeling a little tight.

"Johnny, you were _dead_," I mumbled defensively into his shirt and the words made something well in my chest that threatened to break out of my throat. For a moment I heard him sniff, and the hand that had been running over my hair came to my cheek. I closed my eyes and leant into the touch. Warm. Alive.

"Hey," he said gently, "It's _you'n me_. You really think somethin' like _death_ is gonna stop that?"

I grinned up at him incredulously and he rested his forehead against mine, arms re-wrapping around my middle. I held on too, hands still folded at the back of his neck and so consumed with the need to keep him near me it was almost a surprise when he caught my smiling lips in a deep and hungry kiss. It blasted away four months of isolation and I parted my lips to him, the taste and feel bringing me back to life and sending a rush of heat through my blood that had nothing to do with the Miami sun or the giant fireball of the burnt-out Hummer we were standing next to. His hands naturally slid down over my back and slipped over the back of my jeans.

A spark of electricity raced right down my core when his tongue ran over my lower lip and he melted against my body as I gently pressed back against him-

"Sorry to break up this reunion," someone called out and I pouted furiously, glaring at the source. Some red-head cop in a black suit, pointing his gun at us, "But drop any weapons you may be carrying, and put your hands over your head."

_Gat comes back from the dead and he chooses _now_ to try and arrest us?_

"Fuckoff asshole," I said dryly and I felt Johnny's chuckle vibrate from his skin through to mine. The detective's face was impassive.

"Step away from one another and _put your hands-_"

I felt Johnny's hand move from my ass to my thigh and whip out the gun that was holstered there, firing so quickly I didn't think he'd have time to aim properly. The detective flew back with a jolt as a splatter of blood shot off his arm and he ducked for cover as Gat and I quickly headed for the VTOL. Gat boosted me back up into the cockpit, and he slipped into the seat behind me as I pulled the lid closed and started up the engines.

"…Hey uh… you're good flying one of these, right?" he asked and I shifted in my seat to look back at him; he was pale as he looked about the cockpit but when he caught my eye he put on a cocky grin and added, "I dunno if I'm much of a wingman."

I started up the engine, the VTOL whirring elegantly into life, "Don't worry. You can be my wingman anytime Johnny."

He laughed and I heard him buckle himself in as the music started up again, the opening rift to ACDC's _Thunderstruck_ slowly growing around us.

* * *

Back on the ground, the detective cringed as he nursed the shot over his arm – flesh wound, he knew he'd be fine. He got back up to his feet, glaring after the Purple VTOL as it lifted away leaving a street of chaos and devastation in its wake. Sirens in the distance were wailing as the ambulance started closing in, paramedics leaping from the vehicles and tending to the injured police and civilians, though there were so few left that could be helped.

He looked to the imploded shop front that the VTOL had fired the missiles into

There was a rattle as a brick fell loose in the pile of rubble, and he walked slowly towards it, taking off his aviators. There was another shift and he picked up his pace, when suddenly the bricks came loose, and a small, broken hand in a plaster cast shot up through the rubble, trying to claw free. He began throwing back debris to free the small woman, her sleek Asian eyes slipping closed again as she fell into unconsciousness.

"_Medics!_" he shouted over his shoulder, "We got a live one over here!"

* * *

**Looks like the Boss isn't the only 'fucking cockroach' out there.**


	19. Rest for the Wicked

**Nothing but Fluff, Filler, and Fanservice. This fic's about to earn it's M rating...**

* * *

"… So what's new?"

I smiled broadly at Gat's casual tone, gently pulling at the controls of the jet and spoke back over my shoulder to him.

"Ah, y'know. Killed Loren. Invaded Steelport, evicted the local militia. Had my brain projected into a computer game, took a chainsaw to some guys at a wrestling match, achieved interdimensional travel… you know. Regular stuff.

Gat chuckled lowly, "Yeah I read about that."

"You mind telling me what the hell you were doing these past four months?" I asked quickly. I couldn't see his reaction but it was a beat before he continued.

"Shit, don't know where to start. Locked up in some Frankenstein's lab for a few months, after that I just been trail blazin' over Europe." There was a slight kick on the back of my chair, "And _you_ need to call your dad."

I could have laughed at the accusatory tone if that cold chill didn't run up my spine. My lips parted like I wanted to say something, but nothing came out. In my silence, Gat continued, not quite so critical.

"Not pickin' or nothing, it's just, I dropped by when I was over there. He really helped me out y'know."

"I know," I said quickly. Gat praising him wasn't going to make this easier, "When Matt told us you were alive in Europe I thought you might've gone there."

"Johnny Stan's dead." I'll get better at breaking news one of these days, I'm sure. I felt Gat's stunned silence fill the cramped cabin of the plane.

"…Shit…" he finally muttered; I heard him shift like he was leaning forward. "Fuck… _fuck_ I-"

"I called, one of his girls told me what went down," I said as gently as I could, "He held on for a few days but… yeah."

"They alight?"

"Yeah. The den bitch is running the show over there now." Another short silence poured into the cabin.

"So what really happened over there?" I pressed again, my curiosity far from satiated. I heard him shift back, and when he spoke again, his words sounded filtered through a small smile.

"It's a long fuckin' story…"

I barely got a word in edgeways the whole ride home after that. Not that I wanted to, really. His words were water and I was thirsty, that and there were so many damn holes to fill in. Even then, I felt I was getting the truncated version; too much had happened to tell with elaboration in the near-two hour flight home.

"Then she shows up _again_," Gat was saying a little tiredly, "Like the motherfuckin' terminator."

"You're starting to make me think I should've left her alive," I offered, "Let you strap a satchel charge on her face…"

"Wish everyone was thoughtful as you," he chuckled, "Anyway, the cops show up, then before you know it a purple fuckin jet starts blowin' them up. Pretty sure you got the rest."

"Pretty sure," I reiterated. There was a short beat once he'd run out of story to tell.

"So by the looks of it," he started after a moment, "We're not goin' back to Stilwater?"

I lifted narrowed my eyes as the gleaming towers of Steelport grew quickly on the horizon. _Stilwater_. I'd only been back once. The day we 'buried' Johnny. I don't think I'd ever wanted to go back after that; Stilwater itself had become almost a fantasy land in my mind, something dead and buried in the past, just like Chicago had been once I'd left with Seth.

But Johnny wasn't dead anymore, so Stilwater wasn't dead. The idea of returning to Stilwater, returning _home_ seemed almost tangible.

"… There's still shit that needs to be cleared up in Steelport," I said a little apologetically, "We can go home if you want."

A low, sleepy chuckle rattled from him.

"I don't care where we go so long as there's a bed. Wit'you in it."

I had to grin, though it took me a moment before I realised I was picking up speed as we neared home rather than slowing down.

"The last thing I need is a distraction when I'm flying this thing," I warned lowly, carefully weaving the VTOL through the buildings. I flipped a switch and the plane shuddered again – behind me I head Gat suddenly grab at the side of the cockpit.

"The fuck is-"

"_Hover mode, engaged,"_ The computer trilled gently. I head him slowly relax again, shifting to look out the window as we began to lower onto the helipad of the HQ.

"…_This_ is your place?"

"I know. Terrible. Hurts my eyes," I said wryly; the place was already starting to buzz with that easy, pre-party mood. When the plane touched down onto the helipad I felt myself frown.

_Should have taken him somewhere else_, a greedy voice in my mind growled. All those people around made me reluctant to get out of the plane. But then, Peirce and Shaundi would be in there, and they deserved to see him. Stupid damn sense of duty, never used to bug me like it did now.

Gat looked grateful to be back on the ground and we both lithely hopped down from the cockpit.

"Even got a welcome party goin?" he asked and I ran a hand through my hair.

"Yeah. Welcome party, sure…"

"What?" he asked and I shrugged.

"Fourth of July."

Gat paused, then slowly nodded, "Shit it is, isn't it…? Fuckit, I know how to steal thunder," he replied with a cocky, lopsided grin I felt myself match. Even now it felt so god damn good to look at him. He was smiling back at me too and he stepped forward, pulling me into another hug. I don't think I could ever get enough of this.

"Missed you."

I snorted a laugh; missed _me_? I was the one convinced he was dead… my eyes traced his features and for the first time, I really took notice of that scar. It was wide and rough, like the Joker's scar but only up one side and pulled at the corner of his mouth right up through his face to the end of his jaw. I lightly touched it, but only for a moment. He couldn't really move the muscle around it.

"How did that happen?" I asked coolly and he snarled.

"Loren. French fuck…"

"Yeah well he's a pancake now," I said icily at Loren's memory. In hindsight, I would've liked to take my time with him, like I had with Akuji or Jessica. Still, I had to find some grim satisfaction in this.

"They had to scrape him into his coffin…"

Gat's sinister chuckle rumbled from his chest, "Wouldn't have expected anything less of you."

A sudden yell from the penthouse caught our attention and broke the private little bubble around us – I could see Shaundi on the threshold of the patio, shouting over her shoulder.

"PIERCE!" she shrieked, "Get the fuck down here it's _Johnny!_"

And then she was sprinting, around the pool, down the short steps onto the helipad. A short way behind her and Pierce had appeared in the doorway, stopping dead and his jaw dropped, before he began running over. I grinned and took a step back as Johnny braced himself, and Shaundi launched at him. She was laughing and… well, squealing I guess is the best word to describe it. Her arms wrapped tightly around Johnny's neck and he hugged her back tightly, grinning and giving her a playful lift before dropping her feet back to the ground.

"Good to see you too Shaundi," he greeted and she pulled back, thumping him hard on the chest, though she was still laughing and her eyes were still shining with tears.

"You're an _ass!_ We thought you were _dead-_"

Pierce had arrived then and Johnny grinned at him; they clasped right hands in a tight street shake that pulled into a close hug.

"You motherfucker!" Pierce greeted as they shared a few hearty slaps on the back. Unable to hug Johnny Shaundi had taken to hugging me and kissed me on the cheek, nearly hysterical with happiness.

"Fuck! I should have believed you!" she laughed. With the slight huskiness in her voice from tears, she even sounded like the old Shaundi.

"Yeah okay this man-hug's goin on a bit too long here," Pierce called out to us and waved us over, "We need some bitches."

Johnny was still grinning and shaking his head as Shaundi yanked me over and pulled us all into an actual group hug, whether we were inclined to or not.

I can't really describe it. We were elated. We were _complete_ again. It wasn't just us, it was the _four_ of us. When Johnny was gone we were… we were the Beatles with no Lennon. The Ninja Turtles with no Raphael. But the family was together again, the four of us before fame and money and power. Shaundi, Pierce, Johnny, each one pressing on me and I could feel that cold hole in me filling up and… Christ… it took someone coming back from the dead to realise what I had.

"Aight fuckers, pull it together," Gat teased and carefully pried us all apart, earning another thump on the arm from Shaundi. He just smiled and threw an arm over my shoulder and the four of us started strutting back across the helipad. I felt him press a hard kiss onto my temple and smiled, as I was met with a familiar growl.

The Siberian tiger that had been lazily padding around the pool barely had a moment to resister the 'stranger' hanging off me. He gave a jealous roar and bounded at us; our reactions were a moment too late before two large paws slammed into Gat's chest and pried him from me.

"Trouble _no!_" I shouted and wrapped my arms around the animal's throat and just about tumbling down with them. I wrenched the cat back as it snarled and snapped at Johnny who was sprawled on the ground, whipping out his gun and aiming it at the animal, astonished.

"What the fuck?" He gasped, quickly scrambling to his feet with the help of Pierce and Shaundi. I gave an awkward laugh, having to stand straddled over Trouble's back to try and hold him still as he roared unhappily at Johnny.

"Yeah, I have a tiger now."

* * *

The afternoon and night became a blur from that point, all the while leaving me wishing for the hundredth time I hadn't taken Gat back to the HQ. It was as if Jesus had strolled into the Vatican; every Saint, every old friend falling into throws of astonishment and sheer joy, each one wanting their piece of him. He was starting to look absolutely exhausted but was taking it all with good humour. As the party swelled and grew, we were quick to stop anyone else from getting in, tyring to keep it relatively small. Then again, these were the Saints we were talking about.

I had to take a step back, I knew, though I watched him jealously as he was talked at by about three different people. We found moments together, but after the hundredth interruption had to resign ourselves to waiting another hour or so. Two hours of seclusion in the plane had been enough to satiate me, for now. So the night whirled on, wild and strangely cathartic. Zimos was there, but of all my new lieutenants he was the only one, with Viola at Safeword, Angel off brooding somewhere and ever-faithful Oleg at the hospital with Kinzie. I was grateful; I got the feeling Zimos'd be the easiest to make the introductions with. The others, _particularly_ Viola… I didn't mind putting that off a little.

After too many hours the party was dying down; the horizon was barely beginning to lighten and people were starting to migrate to new venues, pass out or take a conquest home for the night. The musicians had left, no one was left dancing and everyone had grouped off, some passing joints, others, bottles of spirits.

I'd well and truly had my fill of it; I'd never been big on parties and now I found myself outside in the heavy summer air, somehow still muggy even though the city was creeping towards dawn. What was the time? Two? Three? Steelport would bring another hot day, I could feel it. Even now though, there'd be a crackle through the city of another firework being let off, flashed of light from them. The warm smell of burning gunpowder whisping by in the heavy, hot night.

I pursed my lips thoughtfully and glanced over my shoulder – no one else was out here, though I could still see groups of Saints curled up on sofas. Looking down at my feet I slowly kicked my legs through the water again.

Ah, fuckit. It's my pool anyway.

I began tugging up my top and tossed it to a recliner then gingerly lifted my feet up out of the water, wriggling my shorts off. I always thought it was a little ironic that some women wear tiny scraps of fabric as swimwear and parade around quite happily, but as soon as they're in their underwear you'd think they were born in the eighteen hundreds. I glanced down at my bra; a nice one but shouldn't be too hurt by the chlorine.

I quietly slipped into the water, sighing as the coolness spread and banished the muggy air away. I wouldn't go into the deep end – I was a fine swimmer but I liked to be able to feel solid ground under my feet, or at least know it was there. I drew a deep breath and sunk underneath the water, reaching up to take the elastic out of my hair and letting it float about around me weightlessly. The sudden solitude was satisfying; there was no sound down here (well, save for the quiet hum of the filter). It was partly conditioning too, getting used to the idea of being under water but still having control. Eventually I had to come up for air and I broke the surface, my face hitting the hot air above me. I breathed it in, then lifted my feet from the bottom of the pool and started to float, eyes to the starry sky above.

It was so peaceful now… yeah, there was still stuff to do but… that quiet chaos that had been trying to eat me alive had vanished.

I closed my eyes and breathed out, enjoying the soft caress of the water as it held me up. The peace, the quiet of the night…

_THOK_

"Ow!" I yelped as something smacked me on the forehead and bounded off; I flailed and splashed, standing in the water and looking about to see Trouble's Kong floating next to me.

"Sorry." I whirled at the voice and saw Johnny standing by the edge of the pool, his smile entirely unapologetic, a new grin lopsided up the un-scarred side of his face. I instinctively swept a spray of water at him.

"What was that for?" I grumbled, slowly wading to the side of the pool. He was still smiling warmly as he crouched down by the edge.

"Well, you looked so peaceful; I didn't want to yell at you," he said and I gave him a wholly flat look. He was still smiling at me though, "How's the water?"

I tilted my head at him as I reached the edge of the pool.

"Poor choice of words-"

"Wha- NO!"

I jumped and wrapped my arms tightly around his neck and tugged; he wrestled with me and went to stand up, just about lifting me clear out of the water before unbalancing and falling in after me. The crashing of the water filled my head for a moment before I swam back up to the surface, pushing my hair out of the way. A few feet away Johnny broke the surface with a cough, pulling his glasses off and blinking, before giving me a playful scowl, setting the frames up on the tiles.

"Yeah well… I was gonna ask if you were ready to go to bed."

I delicately drifted my feet up from the bottom of the pool, twisting in the water and enjoying the swirling current far too much to be getting out.

"The sun's not even up yet," I said with a half smile, leaning back to float on the surface again. The soft swishing of Johnny's movements gave me enough warning before the warm hand gripped around my ankle, dragging me gently across the surface. A small pleasant shiver ran over my scalp as my hair trailed out behind me and the water made subtle little eddies over my body. I smiled up at Johnny who rested a hand over my stomach, thumb brushing the space under my naval.

"Touché," he replied, sinking down next to me, allowing his body to be supported by the water. It was hard to take my eyes off him - I mean, I'd thought I'd never see him again, and now I couldn't stop my gaze tracing from his sleek eyes to his high cheekbones, down his jaw, to his mouth.

The scar was the only new feature, pulling at the corner of his lips and running sharply over his cheek like a permanent grimace. Johnny glanced away from me then, pretending to look at something else off in the distance that gave him a decent reason to turn that side of his face away from me. I felt a small frown tug at my own mouth; I'd never really thought Johnny was too conscious about his looks so it was strange to see him worried about it now, especially around me.

I wrapped my arms loosely around his neck, floating weightlessly in the water alongside him and he slipped his arm around my waist, his fingers tracing vague patterns over my spine. I was still smiling at him and he shot me a quirky look.

"… What, I got somthin' on my face?" he asked with a wry smile; I narrowed my eyes, lifting a hand to run my fingertips over his black spikes.

"I haven't seen you in four months and spent nearly two weeks actually _believing_ you were dead," I said lowly, leaning in and resting my forehead against his, "I'm allowed to stare."

He tilted his head and softly kissed me. It was brief and light, but the familiarity made something ache in me. A good ache though. A happy one.

"Missed you too," he mumbled soberly against my mouth. The warm hand that had been gently tracing over my back pulled me in a little tighter till my bared belly was pressed up against his shirt – I let my arms wrap around him a tighter and drifted my legs around his hips, holding him in close, relishing the warmth. I felt something twist in my stomach, more and more aware that he was actually _here_, alive and in my arms… my fingers clung into his shoulders a little more and I buried my face into his neck.

"C'mon sook, lighten up," he chuckled, pulling back a little to smile lazily at me. Damn I'd missed his smile – he could always pick me up when I got into one of my moods. I felt a wry chuckle over my own lips and leant in to kiss him again, savouring that familiar feeling. He squeezed me a little tighter and I felt his tongue lightly run over my lip; I let my own tongue out to gently slip against his, unable to hold back the shuddering breath, relishing every small second.

"…Light enough for you?" I murmured after barely breaking the kiss. He slightly shook his head, one hand leaving my back to push some hair off my face.

"You can do better than that," he purred lowly, that hand slipping to the back of my neck and sharply tugging me back in; he pressed his mouth onto mine a little more hungrily, a low growl rumbling in his chest. Something tightened low in my body, hot and hungry and I felt myself shiver; I ran my hands hard down his torso, squeezing my arms past his tight hold on me as my fingers traced every outline of muscle.

I smiled at another soft growl from him and he impatiently pulled back when my fingers curled around the hem of his shirt, lifting his arms as I pulled the soaked fabric up and off him. The second he was free of it he put his hands to my hips and pulled me in tight again; I let my hands drink in his skin, the well-known smooth patches between the scars over his torso.

I kissed him again, but only briefly, before letting my lips gently brush over the wide scar that carved its way from the corner of his mouth. A heavy breath slipped out of him and he kept his eyes closed, letting me – I know he hated that scar, but I wanted him to know I didn't. I'll admit, scars on men are actually pretty sexy… I followed the sharp line up to his jaw, lightly letting my tongue trace down his jugular vein and couldn't help but smile at the instant groan it drew from him and his fingers gripped into my flesh, running lower still over my hips.

"You know me too well," he said smilingly and his hands then ran firmly up my sides, his palms running over the fabric of my bra and I felt myself arch into the sudden stimulation, gently biting my bottom lip. The stinging heat ran right down my core again and I nipped at his throat, wrapping my arms tightly around his neck, a small hungry sound escaping me.

Johnny tilted his head a little more as I ran my tongue and lips over his skin, the slightly salty taste of the water droplets soaking over my lips. I felt Johnny's chest heave against mine with a sudden breath and I smiled slightly, gently biting down at his neck, running my tongue over his skin before sucking a little harder and I actually felt him chuckle as I brought up the mark.

"Why do I get the feeling I'll wake up one day with your name tattooed over my thro- _oahhh!_" he gasped the last syllable when I bit down harder and I felt his fingers slip through my hair. I eased back, leaving a gentle kiss over the wine-red mark that seemed to blossom on the edge of his neck tattoo. But then he pulled back for only the briefest moment to glance over his shoulder.

I followed his gaze up to the penthouse; a few Saints were still chilling inside and no eyes were on us, but it was a little in the open- my glance moved to the cement wall around the ends of the pool, and Johnny seemed to get the same idea. I slipped my hands back under the water to hook my fingers into the waistband of his jeans, tugging at the fabric and watching his reaction slyly. Johnny looked back to me, his eyes dark with a dangerous smile. Four months had been long enough…

He leant in and kissed me a little more heatedly and impatiently moved us through the water, one hand sliding down my back and gripping over my ass and the next one wrestling with the clasp of my bra till it came loose, just as I unhooked the top button of his jeans, tugging keenly at the zip and pushing the fabric down from his hips, my thumbs brushing tauntingly over the tight stretch of skin below his naval.

We slipped into the shadow, the moment the short cement wall hid us from view he pushed me up against the side of the pool, pulling my bra away and letting his fingertips and mouth run hungrily over my skin. I arched into him and he lifted me weightlessly from the water; a soft groan slipped out of my throat when I felt his fingertips and tongue trailing up the thin rivers of water that ran down my bared chest. My fingers raced to run through his hair.

"Christ, _Johnny,_" I groaned, but it was more from impatience and clearly all the incentive he needed. I flinched when he suddenly bit down at the soft patch of skin between my neck and shoulder, just below my tattoo. He was a little more vicious than I had been, sucking hard at my skin to leave his brand then hungrily kissing up my neck, the sensation sending a wild shiver over my skin. I ground my hips eagerly against him and he pulled me back down into the water, fingers gripping the fabric of my underwear, about to tug it down before impatiently ripping it (I'd lost a lot of clothes that way over the years).

I wrapped my legs around his waist again, pressing my body hard against his and he viciously kissed me. A sudden soft cry leapt from my throat – Johnny might have ripped the underwear away but that teasing hand had stayed right where it was. I could feel him smiling slyly into our kiss as I failed to hold back another soft mewl – the heat raced through me and I felt myself writhe with it. It was hard to believe I had almost lost him, that I'd never have him hold me like this again. The desire and elation were welling in me, brilliant and warm and burning away the pain and loneliness that had nearly swallowed me whole-

"_I love you._"

The words fell out of my mouth - I wasn't even sure I'd said them till Johnny paused, pulling back to be able to look me in the eyes. We were both breathless, and I realised with some shock that neither of us had ever said that. Nearly ten years we'd known each other and been stuck at the hip, but never once had we ever said that.

He was looking back at me, stunned. There was an agonising moment when I thought I'd made a huge mistake, but then he gave me a broad, lopsided smile, leaning his forehead against mine.

"Love you too," he said, claiming my lips with a new wave of passion, pushing my body up against the wall of the pool, as we surrendered to those four months of separation.

* * *

**… Fifty Shades of Purple?**

**Noticed something cute a while back about the SR2 crew, that they all match up to the traditional four humours. Or Ninja Turtles, as it were.**


	20. Played Close to the Chest

**Ahh, back to the plot. I think I'm starting to get back into a once-a-week update now, which is good. Though of course, saying that I have undoubtedly jinxed myself.**_  
_

**Special shout out to HeartwritingM for proofing this and letting me pinch a few things ;)**

* * *

_Stilwater South Docks_

Cyrus stood on the deck of the small war craft, arms folded across his broad, uniformed chest as he glared at the container before him, Nanette nagging the soldiers who were opening the crate.

"Be careful! He is not some piece of machinery to be knocked around!" she chided at a new recruit who dared shoot her a filthy look when her back was turned.

"And turn that light down! He is photosensitive!"

"Nanette, my men can't work by starlight," Cyrus grunted and Nanette in turn pursed her lips.

"Forgive me, _Monsignor_ Temple," she said without a hint of actual apology in her tone. Finally the front casing came loose, creaking and thudding heavily onto the deck. In the darkness of the crate, a low, wet moan echoed out. Nannette smiled softly, stepping up and holding her palms out.

"_Viens ici, mon fils,_" she said gently; a few of the soldiers crowded curiously around her, peering into the crate. The groan became a loud, angry snarl, and the zombie started shuffling out, swaying gently as he did. The few soldiers took steps back but Nannette stayed where she was, the soft smile becoming a touch more sinister. Cyrus gave an unimpressed 'hrmph' at the sight, striding forward.

"So, you can control this one then?" he asked, looking on Carlos' mangled face with a little disgust. Nannette's proud chin lifted.

"_Oui_. He will recognize my commands – for the moment, only mine, though with conditioning I believe he may be able to recognize simple commands from you."

Cyrus was circling Carlos' reanimated corpse with a little interest, and eventually, approval. Nannette shifted her weight.

"…And… what is it exactly you plan to do with him?" she asked after a moment.

"We'll have him fronting the assault on the Leader of the Saints as soon as we're green lit. Meanwhile," he added gruffly, "I want you working on a way to control the other zombies. There's still a solid population of them on Arapice Island that we could use."

"Fronting the assault…?" Nannette asked suspiciously and Cyrus frowned at her.

"Well what did you think we were going to do, throw him a tea party?"

Nannette crossed her arms over her chest and scowled – Carlos gave a louder groan that sounded bitter and he stumbled forward quickly at Cyrus, taking Nanette by surprise.

"_Cheri_, stop!" she said rapidly and he froze in his tracks just as Cyrus had pulled out his gun, all the soldiers around them instantly mimicking their Captain and focusing their rifles on the zombie. Eventually, Cyrus smirked.

"You _do_ have good control of him. If you _told_ him to obey me, would that work?" he asked in his clipped, rough way. Nannette pondered this for a moment.

"…It may. With time. This is a new science, nothing can be certain."

Cyrus nodded.

"And Gat?" he suddenly asked and Nannette blinked at him, a deer in the spotlights.

"…What of him?"

"When will he be ready?"

She stuck her nose in the air dismissively, one of the pencils falling from her greying bun with a clatter. "Soon."

Cyrus narrowed his eyes at her, scowling, "I wasn't born yesterday. What is it you're not telling me?"

"Is nothing, I have been travelling," she said with a wave of her hand, "If you want to know his progress you will call Eddie Pryor. Now," she said, turning to the soldiers, "He requires a safe place to be kept-"

Cyrus turned away as the crew started discussing the holding cell below decks they'd reserved for Carlos. Old instinct was chewing at him, and he strode his way over the deck to a small office in the first level cabin.

He hoped he could punch through this time; it wasn't always easy. Flicking open a laptop he brought up the cam, and began dialling through to Killbane. It was nearly ten minutes before he could get a response; Eddie Pryor's face soon appeared on the screen.

"_Cyrus. I take it Nannette and the experiment have arrived?"_

"Yes. I will say I'm impressed with what she can do, but that doesn't ch-"

"_Everything's going according to _plan,_ Temple."_

"So far your plans have failed. Matt Miller was captured and we haven't heard from him since, for all we known the boy is dead-"

"_Matty can take care of himself… besides, from what my resources have told me that FBI agent… former, has been taken out. The Saints are flying blind for now; it's the perfect time to mount an attack."_

"I didn't think you had the men for that."

"_Not for a frontal attack-"_

"And I'll need clearance before attempting to hit the Saints again. And possibly a promotion."

"_Now see, this is where all the problems start falling into place… Clotho spins the thread of life, and what seems to be tangles are really masterful weavings-"_

"You wanna spare me that bullshit because I haven't got all day."

"_I have a plan. And if it all works out you'll get your green light to attack the Saints. And my men will be armed enough to secure my passage back to America, bringing Johnny Gat as our Titan."_

Cyrus blinked, leaning forward to try and read the other man's features.

"He's ready then?"

"_He is."_

Cyrus felt a dark smile over his eyes, a minor lapse in his usual stoicism. Imagining the Saints leader, forced to fight her best friend and former second in command… brought out something akin to sadistic pleasure.

"Send me the details."

* * *

On another continent, Eddie carefully closed the laptop, taking a low breath. He was cutting it close. Lying so blatantly about Gat was dangerous. Gat could be home by now; he had no way of knowing for certain but if that was true it wouldn't be long till the world (and consequently Cyrus Temple) knew about it. Aiko had stopped checking in, and Matt couldn't be reached. But it was fine; they'd played their parts well enough. He was on the verge of everything coming together, and though losing Gat could be considered a disaster the plan could still be salvaged.

It was all about timing.

* * *

_Saints HQ, Steelport_

I kicked the tangled sheet from around my legs to try and be a little more comfortable; no longer breathing hard and heavy but my heart was still thumping a little hard, my mind blissful and hazy… Johnny hugged my back tighter into his hot, sweat-slicked torso as he ran a hand down my side, pressing a feathery kiss into my neck. I smiled, shivered and stretched, rolling onto my belly so I could look back at him a little more easily.

"…I should get up," I mused, noting the time. There was nothing in my actions that suggested I'd follow through on that thought.

"Nope," Johnny corrected, starting to gently scratch my back, carefully winding his fingers around the burns that left ripples over my shoulder before tracing the outlines of my tattoos. I closed my eyes and almost purred and he chuckled, "You know the last time I slept in a proper bed?"

"Mm'mm." I mumbled into my pillow. He ghosted over my spine and I shivered as a wave of goose bumps chilled up my side, making me grin.

"…You're not hungry?" I mumbled I think I heard him chuckle, his hand running flat over my prickled skin as his thumb pressed into a tense muscle, gently kneading it and forcing a low groan from me. Then I felt his lips leaving a warm mark on the back of my neck.

"…I could eat," he said lowly into my skin, "Whaddyou have in mind?"

He was distracting me on purpose now… not that I was gonna complain. He massaged a little lower on my back, now running taunting kisses along my shoulder blades. I let go of a long breath.

"Feckless run, probably…"

"They stoped serving breakfast," he warned and I felt his lips part into a smile. I shrugged a little.

"Pizza?"

He snorted a laugh, hand running lower still over my back as he nuzzled into my neck, tongue tracing under my jaw and I grinned, a fresh wave of electricity rushing through my blood.

"This warrants beer for breakfast, right?" I tried to sound nonchalant and he shifted his weight onto me a little more, edging my leg over with his knee, his response ghosting hotly into my ear.

"Oh yeah."

I rolled on the spot then, twisting to look back up at him with a dangerous smile.

"Insatiable bastard," I accused with a grin that he matched, pressing his weight onto me and attacking my neck.

"Ten second car…" he purred back.

* * *

Believe it or not there was just as much sleep involved with his return, as there were… other activities. It was late that afternoon; I woke up before he did. And for the first time really managed to get a good look at him.

Europe hadn't been kind to Johnny. His skin was mottled with countless cuts and bruises, all in different stages of healing. And from the way he would so quickly and suddenly drop into a deep sleep, I can't imagine he got a lot of rest while he was travelling either. He deserved his sleep.

I leant my head against his arm, enjoying the heat that radiated off his skin like a reptile lies against a hot stone. After dozing and staring up at the ceiling I quietly picked up my phone to check the time.

"Oh, fuck…" I muttered. It was after five. Hell, I'd barley noticed it was past lunch time… I was about to put my phone down again when it buzzed suddenly in my hand, causing me to jolt. I quickly hit the button to answer and to silence the loud ringtone, sitting up and sliding out of bed. Gat only grunted and rolled over.

"What?" I asked lowly, grabbing the first bit of clothing I could find – one of Johnny's shirts.

"_You've been off the grid."_

I was slipping my other arm into the sleeve of the shirt, but paused at Angel's voice.

"Yeah well… things got pretty hectic here," I said before switching my phone over to my other ear to shrug the shirt on properly. Quickly wrapping it around to cover me, I slipped out of the room to let Johnny sleep.

"_I heard Gat was back,"_ Angel was commenting,_ "It's good to know."_

Gently closing the door, I leant against the wall and tried to work out Angel's tone. I really didn't know what to think.

"…So what's up?" I asked.

"_I wanted to know when the meeting was."_

I frowned, "Meeting?"

"_Gat's come back to life and you don't think you should talk with your crew about what our next move is?"_ he asked darkly,_ "There's a lot more going on in this city right now."_

"Right…" I said, then shook my head. I had been in a bit of a wonderland for the past twenty four hours or so, "No, you're right. Okay. Ten-am tomorrow, the Broken Shillelagh."

I was about to hang up but Angel was quick to try and stop me, _"What's wrong with tonight?"_

"What's wrong is that I said _tomorrow_ at ten am," I snapped back sharply. God, people _ask_ for orders then fucking back-chat… When he next spoke there was no doubt about his tone. Biting, sarcastic, cold.

"_Well, it's good to see you clearly have your priorities straight."_

I hung up on him. Next time I got him on his own he was getting pistol whipped.

* * *

Me, Pierce, Shaundi and Gat didn't usually all ride in the same car together. I think it was a security thing. That and there were often arguments about who was driving which could escalate into my dodgy parking abilities, Gat's poor handle of stick-shift, Shaundi's respect for road rules or Pierce decreeing that he who drove the car, had control over the radio.

Either way, we were sticking together like the Goonies now. Pierce drove (meaning we were currently suffering through his latest demo, an auto-tuned churn-out), Shaundi was shot gun and me and Gat lounged in the back. I was… tense, to say the least. Gat would be meeting the rest of the crew today. Meaning he'd be meeting Angel.

And seeing Viola. I frowned.

"Johnny…" I started, "That night on the plane, when you were flying it-"

The cruel memory tried to push itself to the front of my mind… _'No problem, I'll see you back in Stilwa-'_

"Yeah?" Gat responded distantly. Shaundi had been chatting to Pierce up front but they'd both gone quiet, listening in.

"Was Viola there?" I asked collectedly, "I heard Loren, over the intercom. But was Viola there? Or Kiki?"

"…Those twins? No I didn't see them." Johnny gave me a long, thoughtful look, "This cos she's a Saint now?"

I blinked up at him, a little surprised and he shrugged, "Look, I ain't the sharpest tool in the shed but I'm not a fuckin' moron. I read those articles about STAG, seen her working with you."

"…You're okay with it?"

Gat shrugged, looking out the window, "…Figured you wouldn't trust her unless you had a good reason to."

"I think Killbane killed her sister," I said flatly, nodding to myself, "Revenge is a motivation you can always trust."

"Got our very own Confucius there," Pierce jeered from the front as he pulled up out the front of the Shillelagh. Gat chuckled.

"Why we meeting everyone here anyway?" Shaundi asked and Pierce grinned at her.

"So those two won't start fuckin' in the middle of the meeting."

Much to my embarrassment, I felt a hint of a blush over my cheeks. Gat just laughed loudly as we slipped out of the car.

"Yo, challenge accepted!" he said and thumped his knuckles against Pierce's. He smiled over his shoulder slyly to me when he realised I was silent, "So anyway, who else am I meeting? That giant Russian guy?"

I smiled; Gat having done his homework was going to make this easier, "Oleg, yeah. I think he'll be coming over from the hospital."

"Cuz of Katie?"

"Katie?" I asked, "Oh, Kinzie-"

"The hacker-"

"Yeah." I nodded, "Then there'll be Zimos, you already met him, and Angel."

"The wrestler guy, right," Johnny said slowly, "Hey, nothin' says don't mess with me like a leotard."

"He never wore a leotard," I said a little defensively and Gat chuckled.

"Hey you still got that Stilwater Butcher outfit-?"

He was cut off as we stepped inside and nearly bumped right into Shaundi, who had stopped dead in her tracks. I peeked over her shoulder to her furious face, then followed her gaze along.

"Well fuck me in both ears…"

Josh Birk was standing edgily at the bar, being talked at by Viola, who seemed to be interrogating him. Angel was standing back with Oleg by the table, watching them with a little amusement. Seeing Angel, and remembering his insubordinate tone the last time we spoke, I felt my hand rest on my gun. I was still irritated, making me also a little more uncomfortable now that Johnny was here…

The crew eventually noticed us, going quiet with the exception of Josh. He looked over with wide eyes to us (or more accurately, Shaundi) and was striding over before anyone else.

"I came here as soon as I heard-" he said swiftly, finally breaking his focus from Shaundi to Johnny. "Gat, I can't believe you're-"

_SMACK!_

Shaundi jolted away and tried to suppress her laugh when Gat wordlessly cracked his fist into Birk's jaw. He loosely shook out his hand, smirking down at Josh who had crumpled against a bar-table.

"I been waitin' _four months_ to do that," Johnny purred. A wry smile had crept over my lips and I stepped up to Birk, who was trying to regain himself.

"J-Jesus you nearly broke my jaw-" he griped but I cut him off.

"The hell are you doing here Birk?" I asked flatly. He wiped a little blood from his split lip, eyeing Johnny warily (who seemed satisfied enough with a single hook, for the moment).

"I'm here to join you, to fight with you," he declared.

"Because you did such a _fantastic_ job last time you rolled with us?" Gat shot hotly and Birk frowned, looking instead, to me.

"I swore," he said, wiping a little blood again from his lip, "That Shaundi's enemies would be my enemies. I know you gave me back to STAG because you didn't think I could handle it-"

I couldn't hold back the derisive snort. Birk managed a brief, offended look before he continued, his voice low, brooding and increasingly melodramatic, "But _I'm more_ than an actor, I'm a _man_ who's willing to _fight_, for honour, for freedom-" he gave a long, sultry look to Shaundi, "And for _love_."

"Oh God…" she groaned, turning away.

I considered it, for a moment. I also enjoyed the idea of watching Birk being canonised… the man was a moron, clearly, but he was unique. He could in one way or another, find himself useful.

"…Sparing me the movie-script about Truth and Justice and Love," I said, "Why are you really here, now?"

He seemed to have to hold back a pout.

"I had a call from Monica Hughes. Asking me to be the front man for another of her campaigns," he fixed his doe-eyed gaze again onto Shaundi, "But I know where my heart truly lies…"

"STAG fucked him over," Viola called over to us finally, a flat and bored expression over her eyes, "They were taken apart before they paid him. That and when _you_ were made a hero, STAG's rep fell and took Birk with it."

I raised my eyebrows, brushing past Birk to finally get to the table the crew was gathered around and feeling the others follow along in my wake. _This_ was interesting… not only that he might have a bit of a grudge against STAG (for petty reason, but a grudge none the less), but also, Monica Hughes had a new campaign… and it wasn't election season.

"That so Birk?" I mused over my shoulder and he grumbled a response.

"Yo," Pierce started, "You can't seriously be thinking about letting this idiot in?"

"I can," I said evenly. Shaundi rolled me a slow, incredulous look as I stopped up at the table, letting my gaze travel over my newer Lieutenants assembled there. I looked back to Josh, who was standing a few paces off, a little lost.

"Birk," I commanded, nodding indicating with a nod for him to join us. His eyes went wide, and he was striding purposefully towards the table.

"I swear, on my soul and integrity as an artist you will not re-"

"Sit down and keep your mouth shut… Alright, introductions," I said, looking to Johnny. I wasn't surprised to find him watching Viola warily.

"This one I already met," he said, incapable of keeping the heat from his tone. Viola only pursed her lips.

"This one _does_ have a name," she replied drolly, arms folded over her chest. She was in her usual, svelte black uniform. Sleeveless turtleneck today though. Enough to give more than a few men blood pressure problems.

"Viola's done some good work with STAG," I reminded him; animosity wasn't new to the Steelport crew and had to be checked often.

"This is Oleg," I continued. From the corner of my eye I could just see Gat lift his eyebrows, the most reaction he was going to give as Oleg stood and drew himself up to his full behemoth height. Oleg looked exhausted; his vigil over Kinzie was clearly wearing on him.

"_Joney Get_," he greeted, accent a little thicker than usual, "Is pleasure to be finally meeting you."

"You too man," Gat said easily, stepping forward and grabbing Oleg's hand in a street shake, despite the Russian's fingers covered his hand right up to the wrist, "Heard some crazy ass stories about you."

"And naturally, I have heard more than a few about you," Oleg said, beetle-black eyes hinting at mirth.

"Zimos you already met," I said and the Pimp gave a cool, friendly nod, raising the golden mike to his throat.

"_How's it goin'play-a?"_ he sang and Gat just gave a half grin and nodded his greeting back. I turned to the last person.

"And this is Angel," I said, trying not to sound dismissive or irritated.

I didn't imagine it. A wave of tension positively rippled through everyone there. I think even the cockroaches under the floorboards went still. The only one who didn't was Johnny, happily at ease as he reached over and shook Angel's hand.

"Saw some clips from Murderbrawl. Crazy shit man," he said appreciatively. Angel nodded.

"It's a hell of a spectacle," he agreed. I tried not to stare while I was attempting to read his expression; but there was nothing. Like nothing had ever happened. I couldn't deny it; I was a little relieved. Without drama, we could just get down to _business_.

"Okay, we got some serious shit to discuss, and everyone's got their progress to report. But before we do," I looked to Birk who had been faithfully silent. "I want some information from you."

He blinked, "Certainly. Whatever you need to know."

"Boss, he can't be usef-" Shaundi started but I cut her off sharply.

"I'll be the judge of that. Birk, you said before that Monica Hughes wanted you as the poster boy for her new campaign," I said, fixing my eyes on him. He seemed as if he wanted to look away, but couldn't. So he just nodded.

"She say anything about what it is?" I asked steadily. Birk kept quiet, then thoughtfully shook his head. I rolled my eyes.

"You can start using words now."

A snigger went around a few at the table, including Zimos.

"_Boy is about-as-smart as a sack'o ham-mers,"_ he sang.

Josh had enough of an ego to be unfazed by this accusation, "Monica didn't do into detail. But she did say it was going to be just like the last job. Supporting local forces."

"…Forces," I repeated flatly, "Forces being the cops, or a Hellspawn army trying to flatten us with tanks and blanket bombing?"

Josh shifted, then gave me an apologetic look, "I'm… not sure. She dind't give me details."

I found I looked to Pierce and Viola first, then Oleg.

"Is not unlikely. All credit you had received for saving monument and Mayor Reynolds is gone, considering recent events," Oleg said, putting a little emphasis on his last words.

"Dropping Ultor, I know," I said. I frowned a little more deeply. "Fuckit, we were never superhero types anyway…"

Josh was by Angel then, and glancing between the two… a plan hatched, breaking through my thought patterns. Angel must have noticed my devious expression because he frowned at me, glancing to Birk.

"…Alright," I purred, feeling a slight smile twist on my face, "Josh, I think I may have just come up with your first job as a Saint."

There were a few short exclamations from around the table, loudest of all from Shaundi and Pierce. Josh ignored them as much as I did, leaning forward eagerly.

"Yes, of course. Tell me what I must do-"

"You're going to call Monica Hughes, and accept her offer."

A beat of silence around the table. I was still staring Josh down, trying to gauge how dedicated he was going to be. A few 'ahhs' were heard then.

"Right, keep close to her," Pierce agreed eagerly. Josh's eyes began to sparkle as what I was asking of him became clearer.

"Of course… a brilliant plan…" he crooned, "The double agent, a _chameleon_ of human nature, a _shadow_ in the enemy's minds-"

"Will you shut up and call your agent?" I snapped. Josh nodded, insults starting to roll off him like water from a duck's back. He got up from the table and was quick on his phone, hitting a speed dial.

"Jerry! It's your main boy Josh-" he greeted loudly as he wandered off to a more private part of the bar.

"Yo, you sure you want that shit-for-brains pussy workin' as a double agent for you?" Gat finally asked. He'd kept back so far, just absorbing what he could I suppose. I looked up at him confidently.

"Sure I'm sure. Especially since Angel is going to toughen him up."

Angel's head snapped up and stared at me, wide eyed, verging on horrified.

"What?"

"You're training him."

"There's no way I can work with that weakling."

I went still, reaching the end of my tether with his attitude. My fingers netted in front of me.

"That sounds a lot like insubordination, Angel," I purred dangerously. He got the message.

"…What do I have to do?"

I shrugged, "Whatever you have to, to make him a Saint." I added with a little mirth, "Have fun with him."

With that I looked to the other faces around the table, drawing a breath, "Okay. Oleg, how's Kinzie doing?" I asked. His face pulled briefly into a sadder expression.

"…She is not being awake yet. However, doctors are saying her condition is improving, she is stable now."

I nodded, giving him a brief pat on his thick forearm, "Good to know. Shaundi, how's setup and surveillance at Burns H-"

I felt a light tap on my shoulder, Pierce trying to get my attention. But he wasn't looking at me. He was looking past, up towards the muted TV screen showing News footage of Saints doing… something.

I twisted in my seat and glared up to the screen, feeling my brow knit.

"Hey," I called to the barmaid, "Could you turn that up?

Jane Valderama's voice began to grow from the speakers, and the rest of the crew fell silent, watching the News Report with curiosity.

"_The Saints, have struck again. Not two weeks after breaking free from their corporate partners and wreaking havoc through Steelport, the notorious gang have now re-enacted their Leader's arrival to the city, by raiding a former STAG armoury."_

I raised my eyebrows, and looked slowly over my shoulder.

"Whose idea?" I asked curiously, and admittedly, a little dangerously. No one would be pulling that kind of shit without me knowing about it.

Viola's eyes were steely, "I don't think _anyone_ ordered this."

I snapped my attention back to the TV, impatient for the rest of the report.

"_This footage clearly shows members of the Third Street Saints raiding the facility, during what can only be described as a catastrophic lapse in security."_ No lie. A mass of bangers in purple were pillaging the armoury and leaving more than a little destruction in their wake. I leant forward, eyes narrowed. Something was off about those… Saints.

"…Those aren't our boys," I said. Of course. The press sees purple flags, they don't think twice. But none of them looked right, they looked… _fuck._ They weren't wearing masks, I didn't recognise them right away. But the pseudo-military style over the beefy meat-heads… screamed Luchadors.

"That's what I'm worried about," Pierce offered gloomily, "A setup."

Jane continued as the images snapped over to video of a female in uniform, pale hair severely tied back and eyes like ice.

"_The person being held responsible is Captain Nathalie Frost, who claims that the failure was not a matter of incompetence, but rather, subterfuge. Either way, this does not inspire confidence in the Militia unit formerly known as STAG. Captain Frost has been removed from duty pending an investigation, and Senator Monica Hughes has re-appointed former STAG co-ordinator Cyrus Temple to take charge of the unit."_

"Ah fuck…" I despaired, a little exhausted. Cyrus was the Tom to my Jerry.

"This guy a problem?" Gat asked lowly, leaning in. I nodded.

"Royal pain in the ass, mostly."

"Bullets still kill motherfuckers," he purred and I was incapable of holding back a nostalgic smile. Cyrus was on the screen then, back in his heavy armour and addressing the press. I felt a snarl curl over my lip.

"_It is an unfortunate circumstance that has led me to relieve Nathalie Frost of her post. However, in light of the recent anarchy and destruction that the Saints have created in the fine city of Steelport, I cannot deny how proud I am to be once again in a position to do something about it, and protect the people from these undesirables. The raid on the warehouse proves to us that the threat is not gone. The Saints are planning something, and we will not let this community of anarchists and criminals rule over us."_

The camera then snapped over to an image of Monica Hughes speaking at a podium, while Jane Valderama's voice narrated over her.

"_Shortly after this declaration, Senator Monica Hughes announced the reinstatement of the STAG initiative, citing the Saints as a high level threat to State Security."_

I blinked at the screen, deadpan.

"…Fuck my life."


	21. Man Troubles

**ORIGINALLY this fic was only going to be 20-25 chapters long. Thanks to my mind running away with me, it could end up being closer to 30. Mostly the Boss and Gat keep acting up in my mind and won't let sleeping dogs lie, then other characters start bothering me for a little limelight, so I have no choice but to appease them. Doesn't really help when I was trying very hard to fit this story into some kind of formula.**

**Bastards.**

**Ah well. So long as I'm inspired, right?**

* * *

I let an angry yell rattle out of me with the hammering of my faithful SR50; it sprayed bullets into the green-clad bodies, sending spurts of crimson out of their backs, the Luchadors dropping to the ground.

_Ooh_ it was good to be back in action!

It was pretty clear the Luchadors were trying to get their foothold back, and I was ready to stomp that assumption right into the fucking ground. Maybe this'd be enough to entice Killbane out of hiding, with any luck he might already be back in the city. Either way, it'd be good to get these wrestler-creeps under control; STAG units were starting to patrol the centre and eastern islands, annoying pricks that they were. Now the Luchadors were trying to take root in the old Decker territories.

As I ducked behind a rock in the park, bullets whistling and pinging past me, I had to admit something to myself:

I wasn't entirely disappointed.

Not that I had much time to ponder this in the middle of a skirmish, chances were it was simply adrenaline that was giving me the kick. I jacked a grenade into the launcher on the rifle and rolled out from behind my cover, pulling the trigger and enjoying the solid _boom_ as it fired the little ball of death into the thick of the enemy. They barely had time to yell and scatter when it detonated, sending them flying, torn apart by shrapnel.

"_So _therapeutic!" I sighed happily as the last of them fell. There were a few low groans, some distant screams and wailing of sirens. I stood from my crouched position, resting my gun onto my shoulder just as my phone beeped in my back pocket. I frowned when I checked it; a text from Angel.

"_Come to the gym ASAP"_

I turned on my heel, trotting back to the Bezier just as the phone in my hand started ringing again, this time from Johnny. I answered immediately.

"Gat-"

"_Hey. Where you at?"_ From the background noise I could tell he was in a car; I could occasionally hear Pierce say or shout something out over the roaring engine and gunfire.

"Just clearing some scum out of the park, but I gotta get to Angel's. Might be trouble."

"_You want us to head o-"_ he was interrupted by the screech of tyres and the sound of someone hitting the hood- _"Bounce motherfucker! …Yeah sorry bout that. You want us to come with?"_

"Hn…" If Angel was about to get killed he would have called, not stopped to text. "I got this. You boys havin' fun?"

"_Like convicts in a whorehouse, baby."_ There was a loud rattle of gunfire and Johnny laughed darkly. I grinned and gave a chuckle. _"These STAG fuckers are premium cops."_

"Yeah, you're a right connoisseur of killing," I teased, "Aight, keep it up; I'll see you back home."

"_No problem."_

* * *

Gat hung up the phone, carelessly tossing it aside as he leant his arm out the window, finger squeezing down on the trigger of his TK and grinning as he let it hammer out rounds into the STAG patrol pacing the street. Pierce was riding shotgun, leaning out the window with a modded Krukov and shooting down a STAG unit that had taken up the chase; the front tires of the patrol truck blew out and it swerved off into a building, the front crushed in and releasing a thick plume of smoke. Gat chuckled, swerving the car through traffic as Pierce flopped back down into his seat.

"That the Boss?" He asked as Johnny twisted the car down a narrow alley and out of sight of another patrol that had been trying to keep up. Johnny relaxed back, expertly reloading his SMG with only one hand.

"Yeah, she's headin' over to Angel's gym," he said dismissively, before scanning the road for new targets to antagonise, still edgy with adrenaline and bloodlust. "Didn't say what it was about though."

"Hah, I can guess," Pierce commented with a shake of his head. Gat frowned questioningly and Pierce continued, "You know I'm surprised you didn't wanna go with her."

Gat scoffed, "Hey, we' aint stitched at the hip. Gotta have some time with my boys don't I?"

"Yeah I didn't mean that," Pierce said flatly. Johnny paused, giving his old friend a long look.

"…Whaddyou mean?"

"Well, y'know," Pierce suggested with a shrug, "_Angel_."

The former carefree air in the care was evaporating, replaced by something a little more hazardous. Gat's voice lowered, "…What about Angel?"

"Oh. Nothin', really, just some shit Shaundi told me about them," Pierce said with a quick wave of his hand but yelled out when Gat suddenly slammed on the brakes, the car screeching and sliding to a sudden halt in the middle of the road.

Johnny fixed Pierce with a dangerous glare. "The _fuck_ did Shaundi tell you?"

* * *

I'd been expecting a fight; that his building would be invaded like it had been the very first time I met him. But there was no noise, no cars out the front, and when I strode past the lobby and up the sweeping stairs, no one inside. Save for Angel himself, pacing furiously back and forth over the platform in the centre of the ruins. Hearing me, he threw his hands up in frustration.

"That actor is impossible!"

I hadn't even made it fully across the floor of the old Casino, slowing when I realised what was happening. I didn't know if I was relieved, angry, or amused.

"He can't be impossible," I said sagely, "He exists."

Angel stopped dead in his pacing and gave me a dark, unamused look. I stepped over a few old ropes still attached to the ring post and once I was on the mat he began talking again.

"You know he struts around bragging about doing his own stunts then starts getting hysterical if he gets a single hair out of place?" he growled disgustedly.

If I hadn't been so annoyed I might have chuckled. "Where is he now?" I asked, keeping my expression deadpan. Angel's eyes were steely.

"He had to _leave_ for a _production meeting_," he growled. I folded my arms over my chest.

"For Nyte Blade or Hughes?"

"…Hughes."

"Then he was doing his _job_," I said. Angel stopped in his pacing, still looking discontented. The joke had wore off quickly the more I realised he dragged me all the way down here just so he could whine about Josh Birk.

"Angel, listen to me. You're a good trainer," I placated impatiently, "Insane and a bit sadistic, but that pays in this line of work. I really think Birk's earnest, he wants to help and I know you can make a real Saint out of him."

Angel considered me for a moment, "You're telling me you're not doing this because you think it's _funny?_"

"Of course not," I lied. Angel looked away pensively before finally fixing me with his stone-like glower.

"Birk isn't like you," he said lowly, "_You _were a warrior who'd gone a little soft. There's nothing in _him_."

I was trying very hard to keep my cool. Keeping a handle on my temper was something I had been getting better at over the years; I could think clearer when I wasn't letting anger get the better of me.

"Something tells me Birk's not the issue here," I asked. Angel frowned and looked away for a moment. I took a dangerous step forward, fixing our eye contact with steel cables.

"Birk had _better_ not be the issue because I don't like to think you decided it was _okay_ to drag me all the way down to this shithole just so you could have a bitch fest."

Angel was trying to stare me down, "I don't have to invent reasons to speak with you. You created this problem so you should be the one ha-"

_That's it_. Quick as a flash I pulled the GDHC that was holstered faithfully on my leg and in one swift move, cracked it across Angel's face. He was shocked and staggered back, a hand rushing to his split cheek.

"The _hell_-"

"I'm not taking this shit anymore Angel!" I thundered, "You undermine me again and you are fucking _out _you get it? You're training Birk and if you don't like it, leave." I stepped up closer to him, feeling seething anger rippling off my skin, "And I don't mean the Saints, I mean fucking _Steelport_. This is _my _god damn city; people who forget that leave in pine boxes."

I was right up in his space; the muzzle of my gun jabbed against his chest accusingly. He still had the back of his hand against the split on his cheek and was looking at me with wide eyes, a look at was slowly becoming… sultry.

"Now _that's_ more like it," he growled, actually stepping in closer till we were chest to chest and I was about to hit him again-

A loud bang echoed to us as the front doors of the ruined casino were thrown open.

"MUERTE!"

The roar thundered through the gym and in a second I knew what was going to happen before it did. We both looked across the ruined floor and took a short step back from one another; Gat was stalking fast towards us, a dangerous snarl over his face.

"You keep you _fuckin'_ hands offa her you spandex ass piece'a _shit._"

Angel stepped further from me and turned to fully face the thundercloud of rage that was Johnny Gat – I was suddenly feeling a little uneasy as the endless speculations ran through my head –the last time I saw Gat this angry he was taping a grenade into someone's mouth.

Angel's eyes narrowed and his chin jutted forward as Johnny closed the gap, "The hell you th-"

Gat's only response was a furious snarl and with heavy hands he shoved Angel nearly to the ground, putting himself between us. But Angel rebounded instantly and shoved back harder and before I knew it, they'd both charged and slammed into each other like footballers after the hike. Only with a lot more punching and swearing.

"Jesus fuckin- Johnny _stop!_" I scolded, quickly grabbing his shoulders and the back of his shirt to try and pry them apart but one of them swung and I was thrown clear away, falling back onto my ass, stunned. I hoisted myself back up again, trying to get between them and with a grunt pushed them both apart; enough of a break for Angel to start his ringside taunts.

"So that's how you play it?" Angel spat at him, a bear defending his cave, "You've been dead for four months, then you think you can just walk on in and start telling _me_ what to do? You've got no place in Steelport."

"Shut the _fuck_ up Angel," I snapped; this wasn't Murderbrawl and it wasn't the time for him to start up with his trash talk. But I felt like I was placing myself between two bulls with their heads down. Gat advanced quickly and I had to hold out a hand to try and keep him back; he towered over the back of me as he spat his threats at Angel.

"You fuckin touch her again," he snarled, "_You fuckin' look at her again_ and I'll feed you your fuckin' spine!"

Angel wasn't one to back down. His broad chest puffed out, his arms spread and chin jutted forward and I half expected David Attenborough to start narrating.

"Acting like you own her, why not let her speak for herself?" _Here we see the males of the species presenting a challenge_…

"Angel, _shut the fuck up_," I commanded angrily, "Gat, _outside_."

"If I'm goin' you're comin' with me," he said and actually grabbed me by the waistband of my jeans, his fingers gripped around my belt possessively. A fresh inferno of anger rushed right through me, directed at Johnny this time for that belittling, officious action. I thought the situation was under control – then Angel opened his fat mouth.

"Don't trust her then?"

Gat flung me to the side and I stumbled to stay on my feet just as he crash-tackled Angel onto the mat, his glasses flying off. There was a moment there where I could only watch, stunned, as they kept trying to belt each other or roll and pin the other down, most of the trained moves either of them knew forgotten in the sheer fury of the brawl. Angel turned and managed to pin Johnny but he kicked him off, both stumbling up to their feet then without missing a beat went at it again, Gat cracking his fist over Angel's jaw in a wide hook and Angel threw back a jab into Gat's right eye.

I snarled, reaching down to pick up the GDHC from where I'd dropped it and quickly stalked to them again.

"BOTH OF YOU _CUT IT OUT!_" I shouted, grabbing one each and trying to wrestle my way between them, "Johnny! _Angel_ for fucks sake!"

I struggled between the two, awkwardly wrestling my arm up and finally lifting the gun into the air between them, quickly squeezing off a shot. The noise sent them both taking a few fast steps back, but had by no means calmed either of them down. Gat was practically snorting plumes of smoke and everything about Angel was taunting, daring him to start up again. I wanted to beat some sense into them both, but settled instead for a diplomatic approach.

"Gat, we're leaving," I scolded. He just reached out and grabbed me roughly by the arm.

"Damn fuckin' right we're leaving." He yanked me along and I twisted my arm free, but kept in stride with him as we left the ruined casino. Behind us, Angel was incapable of letting him have the last word.

"Don't forget your glasses Dexter-"

There was a clatter at my feet where he must have tossed them but I was too busy bodily holding Johnny back-

"_Enough!_" I snapped sharply, bending to pick up the glasses at my feet once Johnny had finally eased off.

* * *

Johnny was still fuming when we hit the street, his lip split and right eye starting to swell. Finally he turned on me.

"I don't want you seeing him again."

I blinked, "Fuck you say? He's my _lieutenant_ don't y-"

"I could give a flyin' mother _fuck_ that he's your lieutenant!" Gat snapped back, rage instantly bubbling up again as he paced around, agitated. Now that anger was directed at me I felt all the unease returning, twisting in my stomach.

"…Johnny, what did Pierce say to you?" I asked steadily but he only stopped his pacing and threw a hand out towards the Casino.

"What happened with you and him?"

"Gat-"

"Did you fuck him?"

I felt like the air was stolen from my mouth before I could form words properly, "Wh-th- _no_, and _fuck you_ for thinking that!"

"Well what the fuck happened then?" he snapped back, still breathing heavily. I don't take well to being yelled at though.

"You really think I'm gonna talk to you when you're being like this?" I said frostily, folding my arms over my chest and his eyes narrowed in a dark glare.

"So something did happen?" he snapped.

"Will you stop shouting at me for five _god damn_ seconds?"

"Pierce said he was tryin' to fuck his way up the chain and that he was goin' through _you_."

I faltered at that, feeling my jaw clench and I met his fiery gaze with my glacial one, "Yeah," I admitted, the words unwelcome and toxic in my mouth, "He hit on me. Alright he had me at a weak moment, he hit on me, I told him to take a walk and that was the end of it."

Johnny was quiet for a longer moment than I expected, and when he spoke his voice was lower, "…Whaddyou mean 'weak moment'?"

I had to hold back my recoil as I thought back to that night; I didn't want to have to say anything to him about it. Why should I have to? Why do people _always_ have to _talk_ about shit? Not that I could see much of a way out of this.

"He was patching me up, got a bit handsy and – look it doesn't _matter-_"

"Doesn't ma-" Gat's jaw dropped and he stared at me, dumbfounded for a moment. Then he found his words again.

"_Jesus_ you are such a fuckin' hypocrite!" he shouted and I felt myself flinch slightly, "That Tera woman gives me a sideward glance and you're ready to kill her but _that_ asshole," he snapped, pointing accusingly back to the gym, "puts his hands on you and suddenly _it doesn't matter?_"

"I didn't mean it like that-"

"How _did_ you fuckin' mean it?"

I tried to think of what I wanted to say, but the word _hypocrite_ just kept rolling around in my head. Had I gotten that used to my own double standards I couldn't see them anymore?

I must've been quiet too long. Gat had turned and was stalking off and instinctively I followed, like a sash was tied around my middle and his.

"Okay, I'm a hypocrite," I conceded and he stopped and turned to glare back at me. The glare was no surprise; hurt, sadness, worry, betrayal, anything complex always turned into anger in Gat. Not that I could blame him; anger was a very easy emotion to deal with.

"And when I said it didn't matter," I continued, trying to keep my voice even and calm the situation, "It's because I'm not into him like that. Okay?"

He was still tensed, "Not fuckin' really."

My fingers ran stressfully through my hair again like a nervous tick. I could use a smoke. Oddly, I needed one but didn't really want one. Another short silence stretched like a gulf between us and I released a heavy breath. I could fight with anyone for as long as I wanted, but when it came to my friends, my family, fighting was suddenly this horrible foreign thing I didn't want to deal with and had to get out of the way as soon as possible.

I'd never lied to Johnny, not that I could remember.

"… Where's Pierce?" I asked quietly, trying to deflect his attention for a moment. Gat shifted before he answered.

"The middle of the road in Sunset Park- _don't_ change the subject." He'd rounded on me sharply and I felt utterly deflated.

"You wanna know what happened?" I finally asked, leaning to half-sit on a short stone wall holding back dying bushes. His folded his arms over his chest.

"…I'm not gonna like it, am I?"

"Do you want to know?" I repeated. Johnny let go of something close to a sigh.

"Well I can't exactly say 'no' can I?"

My gaze drifted away. "We'd just got back from a fight, and I'd got hit by one of those shock-hammer things. It's like a sledgehammer that can electrocute you."

"…Right."

"He was patching me up and…" I felt my brow furrow as I tried to think of how to continue, "I was in a weak mo-"

"You know you keep sayin' _weak moment_ but you're not tellin' me the fuck that actually means," he shot at me quickly and I felt a brush of irritation I'd been trying to suppress run up my skin.

"You were _dead_ Gat," I snapped at him with much more venom than I'd expected, "Can you try and think for one minute what that did to me?"

He looked like he was about to shoot something back, but whatever it was, he stopped himself. I dropped my head after a moment and rubbed my thumb and forefinger across my brow.

"He was standing behind me and he was…" My fingers twisted a little, "I mean he's your height and build and I just kinda…"

I could feel Angel's hands on me again, warm, comforting, enticing. I swallowed when I remembered the sensation of him kissing me, and no matter how inviting, it wasn't what I had wanted.

Johnny was still and silent. I forced myself to continue.

"I pretended. Well, I guess he got the wrong idea. He kissed me-" Johnny nearly reeled at the words, "-And I couldn't pretend my way through that so I pushed him off, told him to go, and nothing happened since."

I wasn't going to paint a better picture. Gat's mouth was a hard line over his face, the scar making his grimace dark and distorted. I could see how badly he wanted to go back into that gym.

He was quiet for a long time, before he finally spoke. "…I don't want him around you."

"You know that's not going to work," I said, shoulders sagging as I looked over to him and his hands snapped into fists.

"The fuck it isn't!" he replied heatedly, "What kind of asshole pulls shit like that, and you still want him on your crew?"

"It's not about one stupid move," I pressed, "There's shit that needs to be taken care of with Killbane and the Luchadors and whether _I_ like it or not he's a part of it. Gat, he's a good lieutenant."

A furiously dark expression wracked over Johnny the moment I praised Angel and I felt my shoulders slouch again, this time with pure exasperation.

"You can't tell me you're threa-"

"_Threatened?_" he shot back so outraged I leant back a little. He whirled on me in an explosion of fury, "By that spandex cocksucker _chump?_ Fuck that!"

For a beat I thought he was done but he continued, the anger flaring up brilliantly again, "But if he thinks for one second he can try and slink his way in your god damn pants I ain't gonna hesitate to put a shotgun between his eyes."

"He's not getting that chance and he knows it," I said as gently as I could. Johnny seemed to be the tiniest bit placated.

We'd seemed to run out of things to say at that point. I looked down the street, seeing where Johnny had 'parked' the Venom. It was half up onto the curb and a 'No Stopping' signpost was bent at a nearly flat angle under the front of it. After a beat I heard Johnny's uneven footsteps come closer and halt next to me.

"L-"

My phone rang, jolting me a bit. I was going to ignore it but at that same time Johnny's phone started beeping at him too. When that happened we knew we had some serious business. We only exchanged brief glances before answering our phones; I felt a little jolt when I saw the caller ID.

Mayor Reynolds. I answered in an instant; I've been working with the man for some time but even now, I still get a little star struck.

"Burt," I greeted, fluttering a little.

"_Judgin' from what I seen on the news, I'm guessing you're as happy about STAG bein' back in the city as I am?"_ the easy, Texan voice replied.

"Expect any less?" I said with a slight sigh, "Did Hughes even talk to you about this?"

"_That she did missy. I told her STAG weren't_ welcome," His voice became a little harder,_ "But she's saying you Saints are a threat to national security. Now I know you kids like a bit of mayhem now and then but it's pretty clear Senator Hughes there has her head up her ass."_

I laughed, probably a little more than I normally would have. _Sure_, flirt with the fucking Mayor when you're in the middle of a fight with Johnny, dumbass…

"_Listen, if I don't play ball here she could go right over both our heads and make this a national issue, not a state one."_

"You know there are some real advantages to never having to worry about what the _law_ wants me to do-" I suggested lightly.

"_And that's why I'm countin' on you darlin',"_ he said and I nodded even though he couldn't see me,_ "The Senator wanted to secure nearly every damned port in this town. I managed to whittle her down, but they're gonna be settin' up at Port Pryor, also the old armoury island between Loren Square and Espina. There's a good chance they'll want to take Henry Steel Mills back too but I'm workin' on keeping their asses off that turf. Either way, I'm stuck with STAG in this city…"_

My dark smile widened, "And you'd like me to throw them a little welcoming party?"

"_Just be the charmin' hostess I know you are darlin'."_

I couldn't hold back my smile. "Don't worry," I assured him, "I've got this."

I actually waited for him to hang up first before I did, ending the call and looking over to Johnny who was wrapping up his own conversation. Eventually he hung up and turned to me.

"That was Birk, says he's got some inf- what are you smirkin' about?"

"Hmn? Oh, just… the Mayor calling," I said lightly.

Gat's expression deadpanned. "…The Mayor."

"Mayor Burt Reynolds…?" I offered, slipping my phone into my pocket and nodding. Gat blinked, eyes going wide for a moment.

"What? Nah, no way-"

"Yes way," I assured him. Johnny studied me a moment.

"…Seriously?"

"Mhmm. He's pissed off about STAG, told me the ports they'll be setting up in and was wondering if I could do something about it," I said, trying not to sound smug. Gat's jaw had dropped a little, as if he still wasn't quite sure what to believe. I cleared my throat.

"So, what did Josh say?" I asked. Gat looked down to the phone in his hand.

"Right, yeah. Well, Birk was getting' briefed on a PSA he's gotta do, and Monica Hughes was there. Said she was talkin' to someone about somethin' called the 'Daedalus', might be some kinda war ship. She sounded like she didn't wanna use it though, could be an expense thing." He shrugged it off, "_Then_, she said something about 'the Tattoos'."

"…Tattoos?" I parroted with a frown, "What like they tattoo their soldiers or…"

"I don't think so," Gat said with a slight shake of his head, "Birk says she sounded like Hughes was talking about some new car or weapon."

"Hmn… we'll see if Shaundi can dig anything up on that…" I was grateful to have some work to focus on; the tension was still palpable, but a good distraction, a little anarchy was what we needed right now.

"So. You wanna come blow up a ship tonight?" I offered. He couldn't help but brighten, even if it was only a touch.

"You know it," he replied. I heaved off the stone wall and we started towards the car. After a moment, he spoke up again.

"… Burt _The Bandit_ Reynolds?"

I chuckled, "I shit you not."

"…Burt Reynolds is the Mayor of Steelport?"

"Yeah."

"So _Burt Reynolds_ just _called_ you?"

"Yeah."

* * *

**I won't lie, I actually kinda like making those two fight... *evil chuckle***


	22. The Boat Curse

**I think I'd like to take this time to do a heartfelt shoutout to a few folks, Lovely Rain Dancer, ShadowKnight, SexySandStorm, CertainUncertainty. Thanks for sticking by and throwing out the feedback :)**

* * *

The venom purred and tyres screeched as I wove the car around the bend and up the bridge towards Three Count. I knew the other Saints were on standby, all me and Gat had to do was take out the sentries and we were good to invade the ship…

"You ready?" I asked Johnny (rhetorically) as I drifted the car down the straight, the brilliant lights of Three Count swirling by us.

"You know it," Gat replied, shouldering his shotgun. I carefully lined the car up, giving the distance a rough estimate and pressing my foot down on the gas, herder and harder till it was floored and the engine roared to pick up speed. I glared to the old stunt-jump down the end of the street, overlooking Port Pryor. The lights of the first STAG boat were bright in the bay through the thick dark night; it was a cargo carrier, lighter transport and clearly there to clear the way for something much bigger.

And was docked nice and close…

Beside me I saw Johnny grin and brace himself; the moment we jolted up the jump the thumb I'd kept hovering over the nitrous mashed down and the car exploded forward, sailing high into the air.

My insides lurched up as the drop started and I felt weightless, trying to keep my body relaxed as the deck of the ship began racing up to greet us; for the briefest moment I didn't think we'd make it-

The car crashed down heavily, back tyres slamming into the railing of the boat and Gat and I jolted in the car as it threatened to spin out of control. I tore at the steering wheel to try and keep it right and the Venom snarled as it finally skidded to a stop.

Shouts from outside, then a loud, wailing alarm heralded our arrival.

With no time to waste with banter we jumped from the car, taking cover behind the doors and hood; I kept my rifle on my back, resting against the custom sword sheathed in my equally custom biker jacket. I found katanas a little too unreliable, and those Decker Nocturnes too large and clunky.

I drew my GDHC instead, making sure my aim was careful and true as we started plucking off the sentries. The sound of chopper propellers in the distance told me the crew was on the way.

Only a small window of opportunity before the backup was summoned from below deck. It was all about timing.

"Watch out, they got two up on the roof-"

I swiftly turned my aim and fired – the targets were far off, and only one of my three shots managed to get one down. A beeping at my ear and I clicked my headset to answer.

"_Hey Boss, you guys clear down there?"_ Shaundi half-shouted over the _whumpwhumpwhump_ of chopper propellers in the background. Above me I could see the two large choppers circling, waiting for the right time.

"Yeah, you're good to bring them in," I said quickly. This deck was as clear as it was gonna get. Without delay, the two helicopters started descending, ready to drop their crews and head up again to try and hold off anything STAG might try and send in from the sky. As they got lower the wind and noise made it impossible to talk; I signalled to Johnny to lead the crew from the helicopter by the stern; he nodded, ducking and dashing away as I made the low, swift move to the Vulture that was lowering down nearby.

Shaundi lead the crew that dropped down from the Vulture; a few good Saints including Tasha, Reece, and (I was surprised to see) Manny. Tasha, with her eagle-eye and panther-like fighting skills, and Reece 'Wolfman' being built like a brick shithouse made them invaluable front-liners. But Manny, after Carlos' death, had stuck to the low-end side of business, doing his part but never really trying to push his way higher up the chain. I guess when the other two in his crew followed the 'Steelport Summons' he decided to come along.

There wasn't much time to give orders; the sentries were taken out but the reinforcements were already pouring out from below the decks.

"Shaundi, you got the bombs, Reece, you and your boys cover her, Tasha, Manny, stay on deck."

A single unison nod and we fragmented; Shaundi and her boys were to head inside and into the ship to plant the explosives. Once she was out we wouldn't have long to bail. I wasn't worried; I knew Reece would keep her safe. They'd broken up a long time ago now, but he was still as faithful and protective of her as ever.

Meanwhile Tasha, Manny and I split along the deck to hold down some good positions as the skirmish began to pick up. Down the other end I could see Gat managing his crew and for a moment felt a small swell of pride. There was a time when he thought he was no good at leading a crew; a lot like me just tended to go off and do things on his own. He was getting better at leading.

I took a short moment to survey my surroundings and work out what could be utilised. The ship wasn't unfamiliar; I'd fought on ones like it before. Brotherhood came to mind, actually. Though this one was clearly military and newer with a lot of crates on deck, held in place with wide netting. And along the sides of the ship were buoys, large white markers with long ropes attaching them to their anchors. I was right in thinking this one was here to set up shop for something bigger, drop the buoys as markers. I jacked my rifle and turned on the enemy.

Time to show STAG just how welcome they were in my city.

* * *

Cyrus knew there was no way they could port this thing without some sort of backlash from the Saints; he wasn't unfamiliar with their habits. And also knew that the Leader would almost _certainly_ be heading the assault. As a matter of pride, and a burning desire to wring the life from that woman's body, Cyrus was incapable of not doing the same.

He was now holding ground crouched on the deck, clicking his com on.

"This is commander Temple," he grunted, "Prepare to release Subject One-"

Cyrus jacked he photon rifle and with a series of high _ptews_ blasted burnt, searing holes through the Saints that were battling with his STAG officers; over their shouts came a furious curse from behind him-

_CHK-CHK, BOOM!_

The slug hit Cyrus' back like a sledgehammer, cracking the heavy armour and knocking him forward. Not quite enough force to break through to his flesh but the impact was more than enough to stun him. Cyrus grunted, old war wounds niggling at him as he rolled over, gun ready to fire back-

His jaw dropped. Johnny Gat was charging at him and loading fresh shells into his shotgun. Cyrus smacked his palm against the barrel of his rifle to cool it and failing that, lunged forward when Gat was in range, swinging the rifle like a club. Gat glanced back out of the way, using the momentum to swing back at Cyrus with the butt of his shotgun. The older man caught it, going to try again to strike at Gat who caught Cyrus' rifle in turn, the two locked in the struggle. Cyrus was snarling at Johnny, pure shock starting to take over.

"_You?_" he snarled, realisation pouring down over him. Gat grinned.

"Surprise, cockface-" He lunged forward and smashed his skull down onto Cyrus' nose making him to shout out, his eyes watering as blood began streaming over his mouth. He spluttered his words over it, trying to keep his grip on the other.

"How did you escape?" he snarled furiously, "How are you here?"

"The fuck you talkin' bout old man?" Gat grunted back.

"How did you get here from Belgium?" Cyrus roared at him and Gat blinked,

"…You know about-"

In that instant a fresh wave of bullets and lasers hammered around them, pelting into Cyrus' armour. Gat snarled and shoved Cyrus off him, the two diving for cover in opposite directions. Johnny landed behind a tall wall of crates held in place with rope netting; Cyrus finding himself pinned by Saints firepower behind a few barrels but was easily holding his own.

Johnny jacked the shotgun, jutting out from cover to fire into the skirmish; the pellets from the shells cracked the STAG armour and ripped through the softer fabric at the joints, splatterings of blood shot out from elbows, knees and necks. Johnny chuckled darkly to himself, slipping back down to expertly reload just as a metallic clutter thudded next to him.

He glanced down as the grenade rolled to a stop, and without so much as an 'oh shit', sprung across the deck as it detonated, sending the tower of wooden crated and ropes crashing down.

* * *

The small explosion down the deck made me jolt; it was too soon for the explosives to have gone off – I heard some shouts as the tall crates were blasted, crashing down in a mess of wood and rope. But the explosion couldn't be a distraction for long; I crouched and brought the sights of my rifle back up, hammering out rounds into the STAG assholes as my Saints did their jobs.

A crackle over my earpiece; I clicked to answer.

"_Boss-"_ it was Pierce, _"We got the other ports secure but STAG were already dug in at the armoury. If we're liftin' them outta there we gonna have to go big."_

"No problem Pierce. Anyone to spare see if you can get them to Port Pryor, Shaundi should be done soon we're gonna need cover and some getaways-"

"_On it."_

Instantly another beeping and I clicked to answer again.

"Talk to me."

"_Luchadors on the dock,"_ Angel grunted, _"Numbers are thin but they got some heavy firepower-"_

"No surprises-" I grunted, jacking a grenade and firing it at some more crates a few STAG grunts were taking cover behind, "You got them under control?" I shouted over the distant explosion.

"_STAG d-"_ interference crackled over the waves, _"Targetin-em-"_

"What?"

Only white noise responded. I clicked at my com worriedly, then spat an angry curse. Just what I needed…

A horrified scream ripped through the air, and with a sickening _crunch_ it was silenced. The mash of gunfire and whistling of lasers became more frenetic then and I heard more shouts-

Something, one of the STAG soldiers by the looks of it, was charging through the crowd; I saw Manny turn on it, raising his gun and was about to fire, but stopped, his jaw dropping.

"Fuck! _Shoot him!_" I roared, too late. The crazed STAG soldier grabbed him, and a blood curdling scream ripped out of Manny's body over the sound of tearing flesh as the _thing _began viciously shredding his body apart, stuffing bits of flesh into his mouth. _A fucking zombie?_ Bile raced up my throat and I started firing on it but the bullets that thudded into its torso didn't seem to worry it, light armor or not; Manny was still screaming before the _thing_ broke his neck.

There was a furious cry I recognised as Tasha, and the hammering of an SMG. The zombie's body jolted and rattled as she pelted its back with gunfire, but it didn't slow down. Instead it turned and flung Manny's mutilated corpse at her; Tasha screamed in terror, knocked down by the corpse of her friend.

My mind slipped somewhere cold and pragmatic. Bullets weren't too effective when you're fighting zombies. Shotguns to the head can usually work but you really need something a lot more destructive, something that can really incapacitate them. I grabbed the hilt of the sword at my back and drew it, the metal making a soft _shwing_ as it was unsheathed. It was something of a machete/sashka hybrid, maybe a touch on the small side but with a good bit of weight behind it. I gripped the hilt, relishing the familiar feel and then with all my strength, I sprung forward, charging at the zombie and readying my strike-

The metal flashed, shining in the ship's floodlights-

And I gasped, stopping the swing. The blade glinted half an inch from the thing's neck, as it turned to look at me.

My eyes were wide as I tried to fathom what it was I was seeing. I couldn't say 'impossible'. I knew it wasn't impossible.

"…_Carlos?_"

_It was_ _him. _The same, hurt face, broken and shredded. _How?_ The last time he'd come back I'd told him to rest and buried him, how was he here, _now?_ A weird little part of me was thrilled, _overjoyed_ though I knew I shouldn't have been. Because I could feel something very, very wrong with him; he'd never attacked a Saint before, much less… his own cousin…

A rattling croak echoed out of his throat, and with a sudden groan he launched himself at me.

"Carlos stop!" I commanded -

But he didn't.

I barely realised what was happening when his arm swung and cracked me over the face with so much force I went flying; I saw stars, the back of my eyes stung from the pain radiating through my head as I hit the deck, sliding and slamming into a pile of rope. My sword had clattered far out of my reach, sliding along the deck.

"Nnh…" my fingers gingerly touched my brow and I pushed myself up, looking over to Carlos as I tried to work out what the fuck happened. He should have obeyed me… right? He just stood still then, fluid leaking from the holes in his face and Manny's blood soaked over his clothes. With a small groan I got up to my feet-

They had been waiting for me to be distracted by him. I had stupidly, _stupidly_ left myself wide open. The guns crackled when they fired and the weighted wires wrapped suddenly around my body, binding my arms down to my sides and wreaking a jolting, burning shock through my nerves – I tried to cry out from the shock but nothing left me, muscles convulsing uselessly as I dropped to the ground.

The shocks stopped soon, but every muscle in me twitched, my mind spotty and lost from the electric charge. I began forcing my arms to move, struggle with whatever little strength they had.

"I got her! I got her!" someone was shouting out above me, a STAG grunt, holding me down, binding something around my legs. Some rope I'd crumpled next to.

It happened… after nearly ten years, the memory lurched up, vomiting to the forefront of my mind. A body that wouldn't work to defend itself, a stranger pressing down on top of me. The sheer, utter powerlessness I promised myself I would _never_ feel again.

The snarl grew around my mouth, vicious and wild. A tyrannosaur's screech ripped out of my throat as I wrenched my arms in the bindings, the wires cutting into my skin before they finally started coming loose. Raw instinct had taken control of me, ripping the bindings away and fighting the agony that still rippled in every muscle and I grabbed at the STAG grunt, clawing at him as he wrestled against me, grappling my arms around his head and roaring as I started twisting his neck. He was scrambling along the ground then, dragging me along on top of him and trying to reach for something on the deck; a weight… an anchor. It hit me then, only just managing to break through my frenzy, that he'd used one of the buoy ropes to bind me.

"_Die _you_ fucker!_" I screeched even more desperately; he grabbed the weight though and with one last grunt, threw it, just as I finally managed to snap his neck. Time hung in the air for a moment when I heard the weight _splosh_ into the water overboard; I grabbed the rope, trying to find something else to hold onto as time rushed forward and the rope whipped off the deck, with a sudden jolt ripping me along with it. My nails scraped, chipped and bled as I clawed at the deck that got sucked out from under me and with a gasp I only just managed to grab a hold of the railing as I slipped off the side of the ship, the sudden stop snapping at my weak limbs and I bleated a weak curse.

My heart beat hard and painfully against my chest and I desperately clung to the railing; I could feel my sides and back being stretched by the weight of the rope and anchor around my legs, dropping into the water.

"Shit! Shit no-" was all I was able to gasp – it was sheer panic.

_Drowning_. The word shook about in my mind and I reached out an arm blindly across the deck to find something I could possibly get a hold of. Across, I could see the battle still raging on, Saints taking out STAG taking out Saints – and in the midst of it, like a pillar of order… Carlos. My ruined, butchered friend, watching me, slowly walking up. He hadn't attacked me like he did to the others though, he hadn't tried to eat me or anything… I clung to that thought.

"Carlos!" I looked up to him and he stared down at me vacantly with that one dark, doe eye. Over the noise of the battle I could hear someone calling out to me, it sounded like Johnny-

Carlos stepped up closer, not hurrying. I couldn't understand it, why he wasn't helping me, why he wouldn't listen to me anymore.

"Carlos, _help me!_ Lift me up!" I begged, trying something more direct; the fear was mounting to terror now and my hands shook. _Drowning. Water. Suffocating. Trapped._ But I heard Cyrus' furious roar as he grappled with a Saint.

"Carlos! Kill her!"

I tell myself Carlos hesitated before he did it.

"_Carlos!_ CARLOS _NO!_"

He picked his foot up and I could barely shriek in horror and he stamped hard down on my hand, the bones crunching under his boot and my grasp unravelled. I screamed as I was pulled down and forced myself to stop as the crashing of water surrounded my head. The ice rushed past me as the anchor dragged me lower and lower and I tried to hold my breath as the pressure of the water grew, wanting to burst it out of my lungs. It got darker the lower I went, till, finally I could feel the anchor hit the bottom of the harbour, and I drifted maybe ten feet below the surface, the buoy sploshing down and bobbing high above me…

Ten feet. Ten miles, ten inches, there was no difference.

I twisted violently like a rabbit caught in a trap, the sheer panic taking over as I tried to claw at the tangled mass about my legs. My lungs began to sting and burn, a cough of bubbles escaping me and in my terrified delirium I almost tried to grab at them – _I needed air!_

I clawed at the thick rope, even with my agonised broken hand but it couldn't come loose, I could barely see it, the darkness was eating so deeply into the corners of my mind. In some cruel twist of irony, I could feel the knife still stashed against my ankle, trapped and unreachable because of the bindings.

Drowning… beyond the nightmares and everything I've suffered drowning is my worst fear. Was this payback for Matt? I'm back in the trunk of that car, the water rushing in around me and Lin's lifeless body, waiting to die.

I shake my head and resist the urge to open my mouth to breathe – my lungs ache and burn, and spots are dancing around my eyes as my frozen fingers try again and again to free myself. The pressure of the water squeezed in on all sides and my mind and body ached.

_Let it in…_

I tried to sluggishly shake my head, clamping my jaw tighter. I looked up, faint bluish lights glinting on the surface high above. I could see someone floating in the water, a cloud of crimson bleeding from the motionless, purple body.

I felt my jaw loosen and one last cold cough of air bubble up out of my throat.

_I lost…?_ The lights above me faded. The cold ebbed and the pain in my lungs began to disappear.

I lost.


	23. The Unknown

**A very special thank you to Kris who gave a lot of great advice on this chapter**

* * *

Shaundi linked the last tripwire together and the bomb made a jolly trill as it was activated.

"All right. Last one's in place, ten minutes-" Shaundi growled, back up on their feet and running as Reece carved her a safe pathway through the narrow steel corridors of the ship. She hopped over a few dead bodies, careful not to slip in the pools of blood that were spreading as they clattered up the stairs.

When she burst out onto the deck, it was utter anarchy. The sirens were still wailing, and above their heads the helicopters were still circling, swinging spotlights over the ship and churning out ammunition into enemy craft in a scrapped-together dogfight, still waiting for the signal to retreat.

"Shaundi, stay low," Reece growled, pressing another clip into his SMG. She grabbed his thick arm and pointed to a pile of broken crates and netting-

Gat was still halfway trapped under it, pushing against a thick rope net and shouting, firing at anything that got close in a wild frenzy.

"SHAUNDI!" Gat shouted hoarsely from where he was pinned. Keeping low as Reece covered her, Shaundi raced over the deck through the firefight to him but Gat was shaking his head-

"No- don'worry about me get the Boss!"

"What?" She pressed as Reece began tearing at the netting over Johnny to try and free him, Gat still shouting over his own gunfire, blood running from cuts and shreds in his clothes.

"She went overboard!"

Shaundi's ponytail whipped as she snapped her head around to where Gat was trying to point; she raced to the edge, seeing the buoy below and a few simmering bubbles effervescing on the surface.

"Oh _shit-_" she breathed.

Shaundi dropped her jacket from her shoulders and without another thought vaulted over the edge, sucking in a deep breath as she hit the water.

It was dark in the bay, and the looming monstrous hull of the ship tilted over her making a narrow passage between it and the tall concrete cliff of the docks. She reached out, snagging the rope that stretched from the bottom to the surface, glaring through the inky depths.

An eerie flash of cyan, the Boss' pale skin, glinted at her below. Shaundi's cheeks puffed out as she tried to hold the breath in, using the rope to drag herself down to where the Boss drifted, motionless. Shaundi winced; her lungs ached and begged her to breathe as the water got colder, pressing in hard on her body. Finally she reached the Boss, suppressing the thrill of fear at the woman's unconscious state as she climbed down her body to where her feet were bound.

It was nearly too dark to see; Shaundi could only go by feel. Since very early on in their relationship, back in the days when Shaundi had been trying to prove herself to the Boss she'd been constantly picking up habits. Keep a gun in every room.

Keep a blade in your boot.

She tried to keep calm so her heart rate would stay slow, conserve her oxygen as she reached blindly into her own shoe for the small flip knife stashed at her ankle. She handled it carefully, feeling for the ropes, and began sawing. Shaundi couldn't allow herself to think, not when spots were eating at her vision, not when the icy water was numbing her fingers.

Cutting harder and harder at the ropes they began to fray and come loose, a large bubble of air rumbling up from her mouth with exertion. Her body began to shake; she'd have to go up, she had to breathe, her lungs and mind burned from the stale air…

She felt a small _snap_, and the rope came loose.

Coughing up her last bubble her lungs flattened in her chest; she wrapped one arm around the Boss and started kicking with what was left of her might, clawing their way up towards the surface-

Her fingers broke through first, and she all but let go of the Boss in her desperation for the sweet, fresh air. A violent gasp filled her the moment her head broke the surface and she coughed, mind swimming as she hoisted the Boss up, trying to keep the other woman's face above the water and struggled to the dock in a limping side stroke, hidden in the shadow of the ship.

"Christ Boss," Shaundi coughed, trying to joke away her fear, "You and boats, huh?"

Shaundi swallowed her fearful sob when she realised the Boss wasn't responding… or breathing. She was trying to climb the thick wooden posts stuck to the concrete of the docks when two strong hands grabbed her firmly under the arms, her saviour grunting hard as he pulled both women from the water and onto the narrow walkway that ran along the waterline.

Exhausted Shaundi flopped down, coughing up a mouthful of saltwater.

"Th-thanky-"

"Is she alive?" Angel grunted, pulling the Boss from Shaundi's grip and laying her flat on her back, ripping her jacket open and checking for breathing, for a pulse. He swore, grabbing the Boss' head and tilting it back to open her mouth before covering it with his own, forcing a heavy breath into her water clogged lungs.

Shaundi looked on as Angel pumped his palms hard over the Boss' sternum making frothy geysers of water splatter from her mouth and nose. There was a faint _pop_ as one of her ribs went.

"Phone. Back pocket," was all he grunted at her before pressing his lips over the Boss', breathing another wave of air into her. For a moment it almost appeared as if she might wake; her lungs spasmed and she coughed up thick froth. Shaundi grabbed Angel by the shoulders.

"We don't have time-" she gasped, "Those bombs-"

Angel swore, roughly scooping the Boss up and flung the woman over his shoulder, bubbly, bloody water running from her mouth down his back.

"This way-" he grunted. Shaundi stumbled after him towards the archway in the concrete wall, leading to the stairs that could bring them to the top of the docks. The moment they rounded the corner, a hollow, distant explosion thudded through the air, followed quickly by another and another, the screech of the hull breaking apart under the strain of the explosions. They dropped on the stairs and covered their fallen leader's body with their own as the thunder and shaking of the explosions began to cease, rolling waves rushing and bursting through the archway and lapping at where they crouched, halfway up the stairs.

Then, the low creaking, the gush of water over the shouts and screams as the ship began to break apart and be pulled below the water. Angel ripped his phone from his back pocket and shoved it into Shaundi's hands as he dragged the Boss up to the first landing, laying her out, rechecking her pulse, and starting again to breathe life back into her.

Shaundi dialled the first number her fingers fell on and watched Angel furiously and faithfully work to keep the Boss alive, while she begged the universe for just one more miracle.

* * *

_Brickston Hospital. 2:12 am._

Shaundi's hands shook slightly, trembling fingertips resting on her brow as she leant forward, buckled over on the short step of the gutter. A siren wailed as another ambulance tore past her.

There was the soft, slightly gravelly sound of expensive loafers clacking quietly down the pathway towards her. She looked up, giving a small blink of surprise at who approached, his face half lit by the bright lights of the hospital behind them.

Josh slowed when Shaundi looked at him. He really didn't know why he'd come here; like every other lieutenant had been told what happened but unlike them he had nothing he could do, no damage to control. Or a way ease his guilt.

He should have had more information for them. He could have done better. And looking on the beautiful, steel magnolia that was Shaundi, seeing the fear and pain in her eyes as she was crumpled in the gutter, the guilt was compounded.

She looked away as he continued to approach, not wanting him there. She didn't want to be the damsel, not anymore, and she'd fought so long to try and stop that from happening. She was aware of him, not dropping into the pavement next to her, but kneeling on the road by her feet, a gesture that she thought was ludicrous. He covered her hand with his own.

Josh didn't say anything; he wracked his mind for something comforting, poetic, but in that moment decided his silence could say more than any speech. He watched her eyes, still refusing to look at him as she began to buckle, refusing to break. He let his fingers tighten on hers.

And after a short moment… she twisted her hand to press her palm against his. A thick, sore lump grew in her throat, and she struggled to hold back the tears that threatened.

She didn't realise they were falling till Josh's thumb carefully brushed one hot tear from her cheek.

The crack in the dam became a fissure, and soon everything broke away. A heavy, frightened sob beat out of her and she crumpled forward, Josh quickly catching her in a tight hold, her cries muffled in his shoulder.

* * *

"You fucking piece of back-alley scum!" Cyrus roared down the line,"What kind of moronic, _incompetent fuckup_ could let that _happen?_"

Eddie Pryor's expression on the laptop monitor was impassive, if a little cold, _"You can understand why I didn't tell you about Gat's escape. And aside from that one minor mistake everything else is going according to plan."_ He knew this alignment was lost, but continued on regardless,_ "And we got what we wanted; the Leader of the Saints is dead."_

Cyrus stopped at that, his mouth a hard line. Slowly, he glared directly into the webcam, snarling, "…You believe me, Killbane, you and your Luchadors are next. The deal is off."

"_Now I don't know if that really is the best plan you could have."_ Eddie's image steepled it's fingers.

"You messed up Killbane," Cyrus grunted abruptly, straightening himself out as his strict military composure began to rein him in, "Nanette is working for me now and Subject One is under _my_ control. You and your little gang bangers won't stand a chance."

Eddies image leant forward, a smirk over his face, _"We'll see who is left standing once the empire crumbles."_

Cyrus smashed his fist into the laptop, severing the connection and breaking the computer, the keyboard buckling under his knuckles. He huffed a few moments and his mind reeled.

The loss of the _Tuatha_ was disastrous; he himself had barely gotten out of there alive, lifted out by a VTOL condor as she ship was going down. He should have known when he saw the Saints retreating. They weren't running like cowards, they were escaping a sinking ship like so many filthy rats.

He began pacing his small office, the stink of the armoury seeping into his sinuses. It was a 'secure' area at least. Though another screw up lie this, and Monica Hughes would surely have his head.

_Not this time_. He would damn well succeed in his mission this time. He'd vowed to restore order, to eliminate the chaos and bloodshed the Saints wrought. When a forest grows too wild, a cleansing fire is inevitable…

Furious he then stuck his finger down hard on the intercom.

"Lieutenant Carter," he barked down the line, "I want the body of the Saints Leader. I want that corpse in STAG custody, _do you understand?_ Dredge the whole damn harbour, check every morgue, every hospital. _We do not stop_ till we have that _whore's_ carcass!"


	24. Bloodlines

…_Everything is quiet now. _

_I'm drifting, floating. A current is carrying me somewhere._

_I don't know if I should swim against it._

_ I could drift for eternity. I could float away forever… _

_Forever… How can you be immortal in a mortal world? _

_ How can my blood keep flowing forever,__when forever can't exist?_

_Do I fight the current and swim back…_

_To drown another day?_

* * *

Someone is saying my name.

'Someone' could only be one person then. The only person who knows it. He says it again and there's something warm, dry, a little rough, tightly wrapping around my hand.

_C'mon… After all the shit I went through just to get home, you gonna go and die on me?_

His voice was breaking. He'd never sounded like this before.

_Please, just… _try_. I ain't gonna bury you, not now. After all this, everything we done? You're tougher than this, I know you are. You gotta be._

I feel his fingers run over my hair.

_There's no Saints without you. You were the one who held it together; you brought them back from the bullshit they were turnin' into. And you were the only one who didn't put their fucking face on a billboard…_

_If there's no you there's no Saints… if there's no Saints I dunno if there's a me._

I tell myself to open my eyes but the lids are like lead and barely flicker. I try curling my cold fingers around the warm ones. Barely. Barely manage it.

I hear my name again, a rushed question now, repeated. A warm hand is on my cheek.

_You hear me? C'mon! Wake up!_

I go to try and speak but there's something in my mouth, a tube that's been shoved down my throat, cool air rushing back and forth along it into my aching lungs. I feel the prickle of fire in my chest and slowly force my eyes open, thin threads of light creeping in under my lashes, glowing brighter. I see Johnny leaning over me and I try to smile as I see his fear suddenly melt into joy.

He starts calling for someone. I try not to go back to sleep, but it swallows my mind and I drift away again.

* * *

"…_Has she said anything?"_

"_No. She was awake for a moment but went again." Silence. "…I should thank you. Didn't really have the chance to before."_

"_I did what I had to; anyone would've done the same." More silence._

"…_This doesn't change nothin'. She told me what happened, with you."_

"_Spare me the 'keep away from my woman' speech. If you know her, you know she's loyal."_

"…_Guess this really ain't the time for it anyway."_

"_No. It's not."_

_More silence._

"_STAG lost Port Pryor. But we couldn't uproot the Luchadors. They're back. We lost it."_

"_Smooth change of subject asshole… No sign of Carlos?"_

"_The zombie? No…You think they're going to try and use zombies?"_

"_Maybe. But that just means we get to kill'em twice."_

"_Mr. Gat!" Another voice. Different one. Female. _

"_What's wrong?"_

"_STAG officers are here – they're checking the morgue but they'll be coming through the wards soon-"_

"_Quickest way out?"_

"_Uhh… um- rooftop, I think-"_

"_You get Kinzie. I'll take the Boss-"_

_Jolting. The darkness gets thicker…_

* * *

Sounds were becoming clearer. Sharper. The next time I woke up, I managed to open my eyes; the room was dim and grey, it might have been early morning, late afternoon… or maybe curtains were drawn…?

It felt familiar; not _my_ room but… I'd stayed here before. One of the cribs?

Johnny was sleeping next to me on the wide bed; I don't think he'd meant to fall asleep since his glasses and shoes were still on. Sometimes he twitched or snored a little. I had no real concept of time just then, how long I lay there, exhausted, aching, watching him rest. I think it got darker in the room, I couldn't be sure.

Finally I shifted, testing my strength; really not that hard though my lungs and head hurt a bit… I tried remembering how I got here but there were big black splotches in my memory I had to work through. Aside from being a little groggy I gingerly began pushing myself up, my movements rousing Gat. He jolted, then after a moment of surprise looked over me with a broad, relieved smile, snapping awake quickly. He was speechless for a moment then did what I expected him to, retreated into the safety of humour.

"Well good morning sleeping fuckin' beauty," he said warmly, sleepily adjusting his glasses, "Thanks for not makin' me wait a couple'a god damn years this time."

I smiled and went to say something but breathing a speaking still hurt a little. That tube was out of my throat but the little oxygen peg was up my nose and I realised I was still hooked up to a drip and oxygen tank setup by my bed. Now there's a sexy look. Johnny was all cocky bravado again, calm, casual. It almost made me think I dreamt what he'd said to me.

"…There's no Saints without me, right?" I said, my voice hoarse and barley there and I suddenly coughed, a thick weight in my lungs as I hacked something bitter up into my mouth. Johnny's smile froze a little on his face and quickly sat up, helping me upright then rubbing and slapping my back. I rolled some tension out of my shoulders, lungs and throat burning.

"How long _was_ I out?" I rasped. Johnny shrugged, gently leaning back with me into the pillows.

"Nearly two days now. Lazy ass," he teased and I weakly folded my arms, smirking.

"You know, the more jokes you make the more I know how worried you were."

At first his only response was a smile, then his hand squeezed my arm, "How you feelin' anyway?"

I considered my body a moment before I answered. "I've been worse," I croaked, "I'll be up and murdering in no time…"

Something dark flashed over my face, as the memories began to coalesce. STAG. Cyrus. The water.

Carlos.

"…We haven't been able to find him," Johnny ventured lowly as if reading my mind. I lifted my eyes to his face, frowning a little.

"We don't need to," I said, feeling eerily calm, "He'll find me."

Johnny's brow creased, "Whaddyou mean?"

A few spots sparkled in my eyes and I leant back further into the pillow, my head suddenly light. Johnny was quickly speaking to me but it sounded like I was hearing him through a pane of glass.

"Mh' fine…" the words barely formed, "Juss'tired…"

I rolled my head into the nook of his shoulder and he tugged me in close, tight. I felt a weak groan mumble out of me. I don't have time to be weak or sick or injured… but I was so fucking tired…

* * *

It was another day before she could get up, two more after that before she could really leave her room. After that, fuckin' _bitch bitch bitch_. 'Lemme out of the crib', 'I got shit to take care of.' I try and stop the crew from fussin' too much over her cos I know that'd just make shit worse.

She doesn't _get_ it. She nearly died. Fuck, she _did_ die. They managed to bring her back, I know but there was a moment there where that heart stopped beating.

I'm gonna _kill_ Cyrus Temple. I'm gonna find that asshole and I am gonna make him fucking _suffer_ and I'ma enjoy every god damn second of it. He's still got STAG out lookin for her 'body'.

We were in a real weird spot. I still hadn't exactly gone public after coming back from the dead and now the city thought that our _leader_ had been killed… that Viola woman was arguing we publicly say the Boss is alive and kicking ass, show a position of strength. Pierce thought it was smarter to keep quiet, let the assholes think they'd won one. If it was anyone else laid out I might'a had an opinion myself.

I got the feelin' shit was way more complicated than it looked… Temple knew about me and about Belgium. I didn't know much about this Killbane guy or Temple other than what I heard in the news but it wouldn't surprise me if they were in some kind of an alliance… though I can't say if they would still be.

We're holding them off, anyway. The Luchadors are pretty well dug in at Port Pryor now thanks to STAG helping them clear the way before we took out that ship, but we'll lift them outta there soon enough. Every time they try and push for more ground we smack'em down pretty hard but you can't make much of a move without STAG coming down on you.

So for now, we're holding ground. I fuckin' hate it, but, y'know, it's the _smart_ thing to do. Once the Boss is up and running again we should be able to make a real move…

Though the last real move she made nearly got her killed.

Two weeks in to this Mexican standoff and I was back at the Burns Hill power plant; it was the first place we'd taken the Boss and she'd been holed up there since. It was also where we'd evacuated Kinzie to, and not two days after she woke up. I'll tell you I met some weird people in my time but this FBI woman really takes the cake.

I was walking through one of the converted cooling towers and there she was, at a consol, blindly tapping away while Oleg translated to her what was on the screen. I couldn't understand half of what they were saying.

Kinzie still had bandages over her eyes, one arm in a sling, and in a wheelchair courtesy of a broken foot and was pumped full of painkillers. Not to mention the burns, cuts, bruises… but she was nearly as stubborn as the Boss, it's like she couldn't spend an hour without running her hands over a keyboard, blind or not. I'm guessing she could type without looking _long_ before the explosion. She froze, her chin snapping up.

"Who's that?" she asked with her chipmunk voice.

"Just me," I called back, giving a wave and nod to Oleg.

"Oh. The Boss went out a little while ago," Kinzie said nonchalant and I froze in my tracks.

"The fuck? Where did she go?"

"Relax, she's back now," Kinzie replied, fingers clacking on the keyboard again before she paused. Oleg muttered something to her and she nodded then kept typing and talking, "Said she had something to pick up, I don't know what."

"She is upstairs now, but I am thinking she does not want to be disturbed," Oleg mentioned but I was already heading to the elevator. 'Do not Disturb' doesn't apply to me.

The doors slid open to the penthouse crib; something I don't get about these Syndicate people, they seemed to use the same designs and floor plans for the tops of their buildings… this apartment was nearly identical to the one at the top of Safeword as well as Three Count. I hated it. The place was deserted at least, in fact looked like anyone who had been there left in a hurry. I glanced up at the ceiling; two fresh bullet holes. Hey, when the Boss wants privacy, she gets it. I headed up the stairs and around into the bedroom, halting at the doorway.

She was sitting down, cross-legged in front of a huge old chest, an old shoebox open on her lap. It took me a moment to place the trunk that was there; it was the same one I'd seen at Stan's place.

Stanislav. Shit, it didn't seem real. Or right. Killin' people had never been a problem but with Stan… it's a weird kinda guilt I guess you can only get from causing the death of your woman's father. Insert in-law joke here…

"This a private party?" I voiced lowly, leaning against the door frame. She didn't respond right away; all that dark hair of hers was in a sheet covering her face and for a second I wondered if she was crying. Eventually she did look over her shoulder, eyes dry, then twisted her lips in that way she often did when she was trying to work out how to turn thoughts into words.

"No, you can…" she started but never bothered finishing, just nodding me over. I tried not to rush when I crossed over the carpet and sat down next to her; she was always so quiet about her old life and anything before the Saints. She always said it didn't matter, made me think that was just how she saw her life. 'Before the Saints' and 'After the Saints'. Like the girl from 'Before' didn't really exist or matter, or was someone else entirely.

"…It's easy to forget she was a real person," she said suddenly.

"Er- what?"

She tilted her head at me and showed me a picture.

"My mom."

It was a creased old photo of a twenty-something woman, black hair cut like Betty Page… and she was a _fox_. I took the picture and started looking for all the resemblances. The eyes were obvious; big, pale blue, it was hard to see anything else. But the woman in the photo had this broad, warm smile that made me think she was the kind of person who laughed a lot. The boss was usually deadpan unless something really amused her.

"This is weird," I said dryly, "I mean I just always figured you appeared outta nowhere like a cabbage patch kid."

I turned the photo over – there was a bit of writing. _Peggy, Moscow 09-03-1982_.

"This the only one?" I asked. She shook her head and took the photo back, flipping through more of the pictures.

"There's tons, from all over the place. Her and Stan are the only people I recognise…" she said, shaking her head a bit, "That photo was the earliest of her… Bridie said they met when she travelling."

I flat-lined on 'Bridie' then remembered that was her Aunt. I looked over her shoulder as she flipped through, suddenly grinning at one she passed.

"Well _she_ looks familiar-" I chuckled and quickly snatched the photo away – she leapt back at me furiously.

"Don't!-" she snapped and I grinned, holding her off as I looked at the photo.

"You were a little chunkster," I teased. The messy mop of black hair and the huge blue eyes gave away the toddler's identity no problem, chubby cheeks or not. She was sitting on a rug holding an Eyore sippy-cup and-

"_Nice_ dress, pink ruffles really suit you-"

"Fuckoff!" She just about tackled me down then and I was laughing so hard at her I really didn't put up much of a fight, letting her pin me then finally gave up the photo. She was blushing a bit and trying to look mad by holding back her laughter. I laid back and folded my hands behind my head, smirking back up at her as she sat back, still straddled over my middle and narrowing her eyes at the photo. I saw the others she'd been holding before spilt all over the carpet and picked out a few. Mostly a few more of Peggy, some of Stan, a handful of other people I didn't know… I paused at one – Stan with his arm around Peggy, who was sporting a huge belly.

"Here," I said handing it up to her. She didn't smile right away, and when she did it was small and didn't last long. Eventually she slid off me and I sat myself back up.

"You alright?" I asked and she hummed, giving a shrug.

"Yeah. Just… kinda makes me wonder the stories behind some of these, y'know?" she said quietly. I grinned.

"Well, I think we can _guess_ the story behind that one," I said and she briefly smirked back, shaking her head and turned the photo over.

"Toronto…" she murmured, "Shit, I was nearly Canadian."

"They travelled a lot huh?"

"By the looks of it… a few route sixty-six shots- oh…"

She leant against me, holding out a photo and staring at it. Peggy in the hospital, holding a bundle of blankets with a small squishy red face. Peggy looked the worse for wear… even for a woman who just gave birth.

"…Didn't think there'd be one of her and me together," she murmured, then dropped the photo down next to her, separate from the others.

She sighed, leaning forward to scoop the loose photos back into their shoebox and I waited, leaning on the end of the bed. There were other bits and pieces in there, after a moment she pulled out a worn looking manila folder; opening it a few newspaper cut outs came loose. She went really still looking at them, then eventually shuffled back to me.

"…Can't believe he kept these," she said, lifting up a few; all old newspaper clippings, getting older and yellowed as they went back. She filtered right through to the end and pulled out what I guess must've been the first one he had…

_SAINTS RETURN IN DARING CASINO HIEST_.

"Now that takes me back," I said and she nodded – the main image was taken from the security footage, me, her and Pierce shooting off rounds in the middle of the slots.

"It's a good shot of you," she said and I chuckled – of course it was. I never take a bad photo. Not all the clippings were in English, but most of the ones he'd keep had pictures. As we went through them I saw some that were a little out of order – clippings from way back when Julius was runnin' the show. I guess Stan went back looking for that stuff.

"…Jesus… why did he have to wait till _now?_" she said, huffing and blowing the hair from her eyes.

She was still bitter to the guy, and I don't blame her. But it was getting harder and harder not to see things from his point of view… the man got shot for me, to make sure I got home to his daughter. It aint easy staying mad at a guy who did that. And looking back on those photos with him and Peggy…

Maybe her dyin' just really messed him up. Or maybe he didn't think he should be handling a kid on his own, he seemed a bit old-world to me.

Or maybe he really was just a dead-beat who started feeling sorry for himself in his old age and wanted to try and fix it. Still, I don't think I'd be sitting here right now if it wasn't for him.

"He knew he made the wrong choice," I offered. I wasn't any good at comforting people but hey, gotta give it a try. "Guess he just thought you deserved better."

She was quiet, then smiled a little, leaning back against the bed again.

"Hmn. I turned out alright I guess," she mused and I tried not to grin.

"Oh sure. You well adjusted as shit."

She rolled a sarcastic look at me, "Sup Kettle, I'm Pot. You're black."

I grinned back at her, starting to get more comfortable with only half my mouth really working. She kept quiet, flipping through a few more pages.

"…Johnny?"

"Hmn?"

"…I just… been thinking," she started, "About what you said."

I shrugged, "I say a lot of things, you gonna have to jog my memory there."

"That if there's no Saints there's no you."

Oh. Hoped she hadn't heard that… "Hey, I was tired," I said, tapping my knuckles lightly on her shoulder, "Worried about you. Don't think on it."

She nodded but clearly wasn't done; tapping a photo against her bottom lip she narrowed her eyes up at me.

"…We're more than the Saints, right?" She asked. I nodded right away.

"Course we are." I don't know if I really believed it. Ten years is a long time and a fuck load of living, being a Saint. The Boss had started nibbling the corner of the photo and suddenly whipped it away when she realised what she was doing.

"Just… seeing all this stuff kinda got me wondering about a normal life." She shrugged and I snorted.

"Who the fuck would want that?" I asked and she gave me a dangerous smile.

"Easy now, I never said I _wanted_ it. Just… that I was thinking about it."

She didn't mean to look at the picture of her mother just then. But it kinda fell into place. The big 'What-Ifs'. She sat up then looking edgy.

"A while back when I was clearing out some of those Luchadors, there was this moment when I realised… I was kinda glad they were back. I didn't really start thinking about it till I woke up in that hospital but part of me was glad. I _wanted_ them to be there. It'd be worth them invading the city, just so I could stop them doing it."

Her eyes were distant, and her head shook slightly.

"…I've been living the fight so long… I can't see anything outside of it. For that year, the whole year before the bank job, you ask me any of the specifics I don't think I could tell you. It's like it was a fantasy."

"That's because it was bullshit," I said evenly, "We were _livin'_ the Saints Flow commercial. Fuck…" When I think about how I was for those few years, particularly the last one and how we all were, man it's fuckin' embarrassing. "Still can't believe I let that shit get the better of me. Like I went to sleep a Saint and woke up in that jail cell being the thing I fuckin' hate most."

"…What were _you_ after when you joined the Saints?" she asked, sounding kinda distant. I thought back ten years, at the church. I tried thinking back further, back to growin' up on the Row… an old black patch appeared in the back of my head. Usually happened when I try to bring back to any memory older than me being about five. I remember I told Eesh about it and she said it was repressed memories. Somethin' bad happened, and I just blocked it all out.

Figured I blocked it out for a reason though.

"Protect my home, stop the world from walkin' all over the Row." That black patch of missing memory was makin' me uncomfortable, so I quirked her a grin. "And, y'know, blow shit up."

"Hah."

"Well whadd'you want when you joined the Saints?"

She shook her head, "Nothing noble. I guess… a way for a girl with no ID, no home or friends to make a living. Then I found being a Saint was… being more than that. You know it's weird; I never wanted the fame or the money. I just wanted the freedom. Just having the _power_ to _control_ my own life."

Power and control, that pretty much summed it up. The way she said those words made everything else she said almost redundant.

"Power and control tend to go hand in hand with fame and money," I said sagely.

She gave me a long look then; "…You're becoming wiser."

"You know I gotta go land divin' into a bear pit now just to prove you wrong."

We both chuckled, then were quiet for a while. There were times when I might think shit like this, but never really talk about it. Kinda why I like having her around… gets me to use my head sometimes.

"That's why, isn't it?" the Boss said and I realised she was answering a question she hadn't asked, "Becoming a celebrity, it was all coming too easy?"

"Yo it was good for a long time, you gotta admit," I said. Those years at the top almost seemed like a reward, "I mean you loose people in a war."

"Yeah."

She pressed up closer into me then and that time I wasn't gonna tease her about it. Two weeks ago I thought I'd lost her. That's what life does, it gives, it takes. Doesn't mean you can always laugh about it.

I looked past her shoulder to that photo, Peggy holding her as a newborn.

"…I should call my mom."

She snorted, jolting against me a bit.

"Sure. She's doing alright, y'know…" she paused, "I haven't seen her, but I called a few times."

_Of course _she did. I think there was something built into her, maybe a bit of clannishness from her Irish side. You could say a strength and weakness, but it did mean I knew I'd never have to worry about the 'family'. Even my mom.

"…How'd she take it? When I died?" Talk about your weird questions.

"She… didn't really understand." The Boss flicked her fingers like she was holding a smoke; had she quit again recently? Hard to tell…

"I mean she did for a bit but then she started calling me Lin and saying something about her Majong group and how everyone in California plays bridge," she said with an easy nod, "You know how she gets."

"It's good then. She'd be happier not knowing anyway," I decided. I'd moved mom out of Stilwater a long time ago, about when the money was really coming in from the VK territories. Her mind was going… found out years later it was Alzheimer's kicking in, though she hadn't exactly been an angel before then so like I said, her mind was going. In a city like Stilwater she really couldn't take care of herself. I got her moved to a place out in California; kind of a retirement place, where they could keep an eye on her and I wouldn't have to worry about her. Over the years she got a hell of a lot worse.

"…Second time I called she was bragging about you a bit more," the Boss piped up and shouldered me, "Granted she thought you were still nineteen but '_he's a very handsome boy'_. Then she was talking Korean till she hung up."

Course I grinned at that. The Boss didn't have to call her, hell it was totally pointless. But I was glad she did.

"You're all right, y'know that?" I said and slung my arm over her shoulders. She snickered.

"Johnny Gat, I am fucking fantastic," she said then winced suddenly, leaning forward. I jolted, hands on both her shoulders.

"Yo, what's wrong?" I asked, but she waved me off.

"Fine, I'm fine. Just… cramps," she said, taking a long breath but _hell_ if I was gonna be okay with that.

"You only got outta the hospital a coupl'a w-"

She shut me up with a quick, hard kiss. When she broke it, she was smirking.

"Trust me, I'm perfectly healthy," she purred and I chuckled, letting my hand run up her leg.

"Yeah, you went to a lot of effort provin' that," I replied and she smiled back, leaning into me. Hey, we had her on lockdown for a fortnight, how else do you think I kept her entertained?

"I'm fine," she repeated, "I just need to get the _fuck_ out of this place."

I nodded my head in spite of myself; "Woman you got a head like a fuckin' rock sometimes, you know that?" She'd been sick before. Only twice I can really think of but both times were close fuckin' calls; when Lin died, and when Carlos did. She just ran right into the ground, got a fever and infection and… it ain't pretty.

She was quiet, thinking hard.

"…Johnny," she started, "I have to finish what I started here."

The over-protective part of me actually hoped she might bow out. But she wouldn't, and in a way I didn't want her to. The Boss doesn't back down.

"We're going to," I said with a definite nod, "Takin' back Three Count and kicking those wrestling douche-bags out of this city."

She didn't respond, just glared. I knew what she was thinking. I didn't like it.

"…You want to go after Carlos first, don't you?"

She only nodded.

* * *

**Well, she lived. Part of me wanted to kill her off, just cos... you know, plot twist. But I _need_ her to finish the story.**

**Thankyou for the reviews, it's actually what's encouraged me with some of the more stubborn parts with these last few chapters. Sorry if there's a wait on the next one, it's requiring some... planning.**

**Till next time!**


	25. Creepy Little Plans

**DO NOT BE DECEIVED! This chapter was originally supposed to be the start of the next, but I found a cure for my writers block so dramatically fantastic...**_  
_

**I actually had to split the chapters up. Good news is, next chapter _should_ be up in about 2-3 hours, less if I get my ass in gear. MISSED YOU ALL!**

* * *

_My shoes slipped over the slick asphalt as the icy rain began to pour harder. I blinked through the dim storm light, Carlos' body becoming clearer – for a moment I thought he was already dead and my feet came to a sudden stop along with my heart. I heard a soft groan; his body twitched and I ran to him again, skidding down to my knees by his side. He was face down, the clothes half torn from his body, his cocoa skin shredded. I bit my lip and carefully put my hands on him, lifting his body as gently as I could and turned him over…_

_He was silent, glaring at me… One of his beautiful brown eyes was gone, a hollow bloodied mess where it used to be. There was a crack in his head, a flap of skin and hair folded back exposing the broken skull beneath, blood pouring from it, skin and muscle down his torso shredded away._

You can save him this time_, I promised myself. I went to scoop him up and carry him to safety, but suddenly his arms were around me, tight and unrelenting as his face buried into my neck and his voice purred darkly at me._

"_Come with me this time nena," he growled, "We don't have top run out of time-"_

_I struggled against him but my body wouldn't move because there was a thick, heavy weight on my legs. The chain was wrapped on them, my feet tingling and numb._

"_Carlos, this isn't you-" I warned but he bit into me, skin tearing and bones crunching in his mouth. I tried to scream but my voice was paralysed and he held me so tight my body was melting into his._

"_We're already a part of one another," he growled in my blood, "It's only a matter of time-"_

_Blood was running down my face as tears cut open on my skin, my vision went dark and blotched and he squeezed me so tight one of my eyes burst from the socket, a thick spray of blood erupting over my fa-_

My own jolting gasp woke me up this time and my shaking hands raced to my face, rubbing my eyes. I hated those dreams, I _hated_ them. It wasn't the first (or last) time I dreamt of Carlos; usually he was something good, something calming and safe. But recently he was… _wrong._ I went to roll over but soon found what was making my legs heavy and numb – the giant tiger that had casually flopped himself over on them.

"Trubs," I grunted, trying to kick a bit and he growled at me. Awkwardly I sat up and gave him a shove. He looked up over his shoulder and crinkled his nose, then flopped back down. Trouble had been causing… well, trouble, ever since Gat was back. Jealous, I think. Johnny was already up and must've let him in to placate him.

"Trouble, c'mere," I said, patting the mattress next to me and he pricked his ears up, lazily slinking on his belly to lay next to me rather than over me. I gave him a hearty belly scratch then cuddled into his fur; world's biggest teddy bear. It was comforting since I was still shaken by the dream. Nearly the same one, over and over again. I would try and save Carlos, and he would try and kill me. Always saying the same things, that we were a part of each other or that I should die to stay with him or something about our blood…

I blinked, my hand leaving Trouble's fur to idly rub the crescent scars on my neck. Maybe the dreams weren't causing problems… maybe they were hinting at the solution? When Carlos had… _come back_ in Stilwater, I had control over him because that crazy old woman from Eye from an Eye said she bound him to me, that my life force was in a way powering his and he made my body 'revert' back… or heal up faster or… something.

On that ship, Carlos could have killed me; he could have torn me apart like he did to Manny. But he didn't. I had to get control back; I had to get that connection back again… somehow…

I don't know what it was. Science, voodoo, some kind of weird, twisted combination of both, but what I did know was that this was a reality. I had an undead Carlos on my hands and I had to find a way of bringing him back under my control, no matter how outlandish the idea was. And if I couldn't…

I would have to find a way to let him rest more permanently.

* * *

First things first I knew I'd need help, someone who would have more answers about Carlos. I could think of only one person back in Stilwater who could be any use to me; when I made the call she sounded reluctant to come, so naturally I had some of the boys 'help' her to the airport. By late that afternoon she had arrived at Burns Hill, flanked on all sides by the Saints who escorted her as she was guided out of the elevator. I leant against the bar before slipping up onto a stool, curious to meet with the young woman again.

The last time I saw Yveline she was only fifteen or sixteen, thrust into taking over Eye for an Eye after her nut of a grandmother carked it. She'd been a gangly thing back then, but now was tall and willowy, her skin a soft sheen of chocolate and her hair still closely clipped to her scalp, nearly bald. She also still wore a lot of white, a flowing cheesecloth dress that seemed to float almost weightlessly when she moved, a contrast to the heavy beads and jewellery around her neck and over her arms. She had a strange, weighty air about her now, newfound confidence muddled with a permanent cloud of melancholy. When she saw me she didn't smile, clearly not exactly thrilled at being summoned like this. She'd get over it though.

"Thanks for coming on such short notice," I said dryly. Yveline swallowed carefully, lifting her chin.

"I was not exactly given a choice in the matter," she said and I nodded.

"Well, this is your family's mess that needs cleaning up," I warned. She flinched a little at that.

"I already told you, I don't understand fully what my grandmother did."

"But you've been studying it," I interjected flatly. She glanced away then and a Saint that had been flanking her who I recognised as Mo stepped up to me, heaving a duffle bag up onto the counter next to me.

"This was all the stuff we found Boss," he said. "A few books, some kinda journal. Dunno what it's for."

"Thanks. You boys can go, talk to Pierce for your pay." The crew obediently dispersed, leaving only me and Yveline in the penthouse. I broke the eerie silence first.

"I don't have time to kick the shit with you," I said, "Carlos has come back, and for some reason I can't control him anymore. _You_ know the most about how he operates, so _you_ are going to fix this for me."

Yveline blinked, glancing away from me worriedly.

"You're overestimating what I can do," she urged and I waved my hand nonchalant.

"Not at all. You'd be surprised what people can accomplish when they're looking to stay alive."

I saw her hands beginning to shake, her jaw twitching, "Well," she said sharply, trying to hide her fear behind a veil of bravado, "If you could tell me everything about the situation, I might be able to help."

I nodded easily, seemed fair enough. And I supposed the best place to start was the beginning.

"Not long after the last time I saw you at Eye for an Eye… I saw Carlos again," I said, softer, "He helped me when I was trapping an Ultor construction site and some kids got in the way. I actually managed to… sort of speak with him."

"By the Baron, he _spoke_ to you?" Yveline suddenly interjected, her eyes wide and she took a few steps forward in amazement. I balked a little at the interruption, but her interest was a good sign.

"No," I said, "But he seemed to be able to understand me. He'd do anything I told him to. Still, I was a little _disgusted_ with what your grandmother had done to him," I snarled icily and Yveline shifted uncomfortably, "So I took him back to the graveyard and told him to die. Properly."

Yveline nodded slowly, her spidery fingers to her chin, "What were the exact words you used?"

"Exact?" I felt my mouth tug a little, "Rest in peace."

Yveline only nodded so in her silence I continued, telling her everything I knew about the zombies on Arapice Island, and seeing Carlos on the ship. But when I got to the very last moment, remembering hanging from the side of that ship and looking up at his soulless face-

I swallowed and looked to the ground. "They've found some way of using him. We need to figure out how to stop that before they use it on the zombies on Arapice Island and bury us in fucking corpses."

That wasn't the reason, and the way Yveline watched me with her deep black eyes I knew she knew it too. Carlos had been taken away from me… before, all I'd wanted for him was a little dignity in death, to be able to let him rest. And now Cyrus had stolen him.

_No one_ steals from me…

"Now… I will try and explain what I know about my grandmother's work…" she said slowly, thoughtfully. Her voice was smooth and deep, and I realised I quite liked hearing her. She could probably sing beautifully.

"You recall Grandmother used your blood in the ritual to bind him back. Your life feeds his, and when he bit you and shared his blood with you, the ritual was completed, the bond was forged. I don't know if it can ever be undone."

I hate hocus-pocus. No logic or rhyme or reason to it. What's worse is I had the evidence of it sitting right in front of me so I couldn't damn well deny it.

"Is that why I could control him?" I pressed and she narrowed her eyes thoughtfully.

"Your intentions became his intentions," she said cryptically, "The lines between you two become blurred along with your blood."

"English please."

I could see Yveline resist the urge to roll her eyes, "I was only saying that _control_ wasn't exactly-" she sighed, "Never mind. Yes, it is why he would do what you wanted him to."

I pursed my mouth slightly, hopping along in my train of thought.

"…Okay. So, maybe it got weaker? Or maybe they tried binding him to someone else? You're grandmother wasn't the only voodoo-lady around. Carlos could have torn me apart but he didn't, so something is still there, right?"

"It's possible," she said and I gave her a flat look. I was hoping she'd know more.

"Fine," I said coolly, "So, by that logic, I feed him a bit more blood, he gets stronger, he's on my side again. No problem."

"Whoah, big problem!" Yveline said swiftly, slipping for a moment back into the casual tone of a nineteen year old girl. I blinked at her and her mouth pulled into a worried grimace.

"It's the most basic of principals, you can't have it both ways," she said carefully, her deep eyes drilling into mine, "The more you bring him into the world of the living, the more of your _own_ life he'll take. If you give over to him more you'll begin to loose yourself, your emotions and eventually your very conscious thought till _you_ are the shambling mess of unlife, a shadow of yourself."

I was quiet for a long time at that.

"Well. That does put a damper on the plan."

I actually heard her breathe out a heartless laugh at that. Idly I pressed two fingers up under my jaw, counting out the creepily slow heartbeat under my cool skin.

"You know, since Carlos came back, I heal really fast," I said matter-of-factly and she took a few steps forward up to the bar, taking the liberty of propping herself up on a seat. She leant forward curiously, resting her chin on her hand.

"Now that _is_ interesting…" she mused and I smirked and nodded.

"Usually helps if I eat lots of blue steak and stuff-"

"Have you tried consuming human flesh as opposed to animal?"

I blinked, turning and slowly looking at her and felt something under my eye twitch.

"_Sure,_" I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm, "I hear fava beans and a nice Chianti go _swell_ with human liver."

Yveline held up her hands defensively, "Merely a thought. It is consistent in nearly all mythology that it's how the undead sustain themselves on some level. A person cannot continue aging once they're dead. The moment Carlos was brought back you were forced into half-life, so I was… curious."

"I'm not chowing-down on the neighbours because you're _curious_."

She smiled a little laughingly, before it dissipated into seriousness again.

"It would help if I could find out exactly what it is they've done to him. Your plan might work," she said, but then leant forward fixing me with those deep black eyes again, "But you _must_ understand what you will be risking."

A small smirk tugged at my mouth.

"I once shot through the windshield of a carrier plane mid-flight and flew out the other end," I boasted, "This isn't going to be the first time I've _risked_ my mortality hon."

* * *

**And I rush off to finish the next part...**


	26. Where do they get those Wonderful Toys?

**Ahh, it feels so damn good to be all caught up! Dedicating this chapter to the Exchange Hotel, a nifty pub down the end of my street that I'm currently sitting in. I got the idea to try writing out fo the house to cure the eeevil writers bloc and lo-and-behold, more done in two hours than I have managed in two weeks.**

**I think I'll end up a regular here.**

* * *

Johnny picked up the still-bloodied STAG helmet, spinning it around his hand.

"Yo I'm comin' into the base too, right? Not just to the gate and back?" he asked with a quirky half-smile and I pointedly took the helmet from him, setting it back down on the table.

"This is a stealth job," I reminded him smilingly and I began wrestling myself into the bulky, awkward STAG armour. Ugh, the last guy who wore this smelt like hoagies… these things were supposed to have been cleaned.

"So?" Johnny pushed.

I shook my head, "Subtlety isn't exactly your middle name."

His dark smirk broadened just a touch, "You _say_ stealth but we all know how those jobs end up when you're involved," he teased.

"Flattery won't get you anywhere," I reminded him and he slumped against the wall, arms folded over his chest.

"I saw what he did," he warned, taking a cheerless tone that made me pause, "It tried to kill you."

I felt an involuntary scowl snap over my nose and mouth when he said _it_. He must've seen the look, because he continued.

"Carlos wouldn'ta done that to you, you know it, right?" he pressed but I didn't want to answer. He still didn't know everything, he probably thought Carlos was the same as the things crawling around on Arapice island. I didn't know if I could tell him otherwise.

"That Cyrus guy _knew_ about me bein' in Belgium," he added, inelegantly changing the subject, "I got my own questions, y'know?"

I felt my mouth tug – of course I'd feel easier if Johnny was there. When I finally conceded I didn't have to say anything, he just nodded at my expression and started wrestling his way into the second set of armour.

The plan was… simple. Ish. Birk had managed to hook himself up with a tour of the armoury facility, a meet-and-greet with some of the new recruits to boost morale. He actually seemed irritatingly excited about it, but regardless we now had a ticket into the place.

I was a little excited too, I couldn't lie. I was used to smash-and-grab jobs which (aside from the occasional explosion) were actually starting to get a little… meh. But blasting into the armoury guns-blazing when it was top-secret information we wanted might not have been the best approach, that and I was still unsure if I wanted STAG to know I was alive. While they thought I was dead they seemed to have eased back on attacking and were more inclined to simply hold their ground and stop the Luchadors from spreading.

You know, 'mission accomplished' and all.

So, stealth was the way with this plan. I actually got to use my brain for once, not that this was a Danny Ocean-standard infiltration, but it was enough. And if I fucked up, I could always kill my way outta there.

We suited up in the STAG grunt uniforms and I quietly tried not to hurl into the visor of my helmet. Ngh, this thing was making me nauseous… stepping out of the old abandoned coffee shop we stood on the corner of the street, trying to look inconspicuous. Y'know, two STAG soldiers, just… hangin' out.

I really was out of practise with stealth jobs…

I heard Johnny say something, mumbled through the barrier of both our helmets. I tapped the side of my visor and shrugged, and he waved me off, pointing instead down the road where a black SUV was slowing towards us and eventually pulled up to the curb. Gat and I split to separate sides, shifting into the back of the bulky car; Josh Birk was already relaxed in the black leather back, but where I had been expecting a California-standard star-

Silver-white armour, blood red cape, and a dark, brooding scowl over his usually charming features. Joy of joys, we had _Nyteblde _today. He lifted his chin as we slipped in either side of him (Johnny taking a wary, disbelieving pause before he did)

"The fuck is with the outfit Birk?" Gat growled and the actor narrowed his eyes.

"This is the sacred armour of the demon hunters," he corrected, his voice about an octave lower than usual sounding like a romanticised Clint Eastwood. The moment the door was shut I flipped up the visor of my helmet, deeply breathing the almost-fresh air.

"He's an actor," I resigned to Johnny, "He likes staying in character."

"If his character is bein' a fuckin' fruit loop, sure," he mused back with an uncertain look over 'Nyteblade'.

"Urgh… two minutes in this thing and I'm already done…" I grumbled, feeling a fresh wave of nausea. Stupid stinking armour, "Gat does yours stink as bad as mine?"

He shrugged, "Since I don't look like I'm about to chuck all over the car I'm gonna say no."

I resisted the urge to grumble. The SUV pulled out from the curb and picked up speed as it charged past the Arena, rushing to the bridge to lead us over into Loren Square. It was off-peak hours over the bridge; I tensed a little and let my hand rest over my gun when the blockade stopped us to inspect the vehicle, but a few fan-pleasing quotes from STAG poster-boy Josh Birk and we were waved through – after, of course, Josh signed a quick autograph for one of the STAG inspectors 'sisters' named 'Charlie'. Once we were safely through the checkpoint, I finally broke the thick silence.

"Remember Birk, if we're caught, just act stupid," I said flatly. Josh turned a dramatic, stern look to me, surprising me as he grasped me by both shoulders.

"_Should_ that dire time come," he declared, impassioned eyes searing into me, "_I_ shall _not_ stand idly by… acting the _fool_, while my friends… are in _danger…_"

I felt my expression deadpan, just as Johnny groaned.

"That really doesn't help my confidence in you," I said flatly.

"Birk," Johnny voiced icily, "You screw _this_ up and getting fucked in a prison cell is gonna be the least of your problems."

It almost seemed like Birk might have broken character then, but all he did was reverently release my shoulders, sitting back still and statuesque in his seat. I snorted at Johnny's comment and Gat leant forward, raising an eyebrow at me.

"What?"

"Nothing, nothing," I said trying to hold back my smirk, "Just… interesting mental image there."

We quietly went over the plan again in quick-list form till Josh nodded ahead, spying through the front windshield.

"We approach the last checkpoint," he warned. I flipped the visor down again to cover my face, trying to breathe as little as possible. The SUV slowed to a stop and there was a tapping on my window; from the front the chauffer got out and we sat quietly as the car was inspected. A few happy greets from the soldiers who were Birk's fans, even familiar nods to me an Johnny as they 'recognised' Birk's personal guards.

'Nyteblade' was all fearlessness and bravado, just as he had been when we took him along for the bank heist so many months ago. I tried not to think of that as a bad omen; if everything went to hell I couldn't be sure that he wouldn't fold like the world's shittiest poker player. But who knows, maybe thinking that he's Nyteblade would give him a little more confidence?

Once we were over the bridge the short road ended almost instantly at the front of the main administration building, a four-story tall redbrick box that dominated the western end of the tiny island. As we slipped out of the car and Birk was greeted by some-guy-in-a-suit I took a moment to get my bearings and remember where everything was. To the left I could see the armoury; a place I'd certainly been before. When Shaundi and I had first washed up in Steelport it was the first place we raided for a little firepower (a 'little' being a massive bomb we used to take down Loren's skyscraper).

The suit that stepped up to greet us was a tall, soft-bodied man with dark skin and buzz-cut black hair. When he spoke he focused mostly on Josh and I moved back to stand 'at ease' on one side of him, Gat mimicking me and flanking him on the other side.

"Mr Birk, so glad you could join us today," the man greeted warmly, shaking Josh's hand, "I know the new recruits are really looking forward to meeting you."

While Birk played his part, Gat and I stood silently; I was glaring about me for landmarks so I could build a mental image of the island.

The road we took here was from Loren square, so there'd be two more bridges (both capable of being raised) on the northern and eastern sides of the island. Plenty of options there.

Right down the south were the human-filing-cabinets; not _barracks_ per-se but they were strictly residential apartments for STAG soldiers.

I couldn't see much else from there but from memory there was the air park and hangars behind the admin building, beyond that some water tanks, piping, factory-stuff…

"Sir? _Sir?_"

I jolted when I realised the Suit was addressing me (Sir? _Really?_); everyone was being lead inside, Gat glancing over his shoulder and waving his hand quickly at me. I awkwardly jogged to catch up, readying my mind for the tour.

* * *

This shit…

Was torture.

For nearly an hour we trailed over the admin building, watching Nyteblade do his meet and greets and constantly speak in an over-dramatic tone. Though it gave me a few opportunities to pickpocket two ID access cards it was all I could do to keep my mind focused and keep note of where I was in those taupe, identical, never-ending hallways. That stupid stinking suit and helmet were suffocating me and I was sure if I let my guard down for a moment nothing would stop my breakfast returning and splattering the inside of my visor. It wasn't till Birk was meeting an entire squadron in one of their Air-Cav training lecture halls that Gat and I managed to slip out of the room with the excuse of 'guarding' the exits.

The moment we were along, I flipped my visor up and leant forward, grunting and breathing heavily to clear my head.

"Yo anyone'd think something died in that armour, the way you're carrying on," Johnny teased me but I could faintly felt his arm on my back.

"All the Febreeze in the world," I huffed, straightening. I rolled my shoulders; we didn't have much time.

"Okay, level two was supposed to be some kinda RnD thing, right?" I said inelegantly and Johnny nodded.

"And uh, applied sciences getting set up on the other end of the island?" he mentioned, "They said somethin' about converting the old mills…"

"Well, should be some stuff on that in Cyrus' office if I can get to it. Or anyone higher up."

Something told me I should have thought this through further, but then again I tended to work pretty well when I was winging it. Sometimes having plans set in concrete made it worse when things went wrong.

Gat nodded, a small frown at his mouth. "So you wanna take Cyrus' office?"

"If I find anything about you," I assured him, "Or Belgium or… _anything-_"

"I know," he said. "Okay, back here in a half hour-"

"And communicators only in an emergency, got it."

I slapped one of the pass-cards into his hand and we split, him heading down the hallway left, me right, and I started up the stairs. Commanding personnel had offices on the top floor…

I did my best to look calm and nonchalant as I hurried, turning onto the fourth floor and scanning the names on the doors. Cyrus' office was naturally right down the furthest end. There was no swipe-pass here; I found myself going old-school and picking the lock, discreetly as I could and glancing constantly over my shoulder in case anyone was going to poke their head out at me. The door mercifully gave way and I slipped swiftly inside, closing the door behind, and lifting my visor with relief.

"Damn…" I muttered at what greeted me. The man's office was _nice_, had a good view. The office looked out over the river to the midline of the city, floor-to-ceiling glass. I was stunning only a moment before I rushed forward, quickly ripping into the desk and filing cabinets. I only checked the filed briefly to test their relevance; anything I thought might be useful I crammed down the front of my armour. I would've taken it all if I could afford to, but my eyes were hunting for certain buzz-words. Zombies, undead, Arapice Island, Belgium, Europe…

Or Carlos Mendoza.

It was halfway through my frantic hunting that I spied something displayed on top of a cabinet; my eye twitched with anger and nose crinkled when I recognised the dark blade, hilt bound with purple.

That _shit_ took my _sword?_ He took a trophy?

My hands clenched around another manila folder and I stalked over to the cabinet, reaching up and lifting my sword from its display plinths.

"Come back to momma," I smirked at it, eye softening as I cradled the blade and considered how I was supposed to smuggle it out of there. _Swinging it into Cyrus' neck seems stealthy enough…_

There crackling voice in my ear caused me to jolt.

"_Yo, I uh, think I mighta done something-"_ Johnny's voice revealed and I froze, wriggling my hand into my helmet and clicking my earpiece.

"Done _what?_" I asked dangerously.

"_Well, I was goin' through the place, found this door but that card wouldn't open it, so I kicked it in – couple'a people inside not to impressed with that seein' as they were experimenting on someone."_

"And?"

"_Well it don't matter much, they're dead now."_

I held back my groan. That man was subtle as a brick to the face.

"Well did anyone s-"

A loud, howling siren rose through the air and the building; I tentatively poked my head out of the door and saw red lights starting to swirl down the taupe hallways. My face fell.

"Call for backup," I said shortly and we simultaneously ended out connections, not about to risk the transmissions being picked up.

I spirited myself back down the hall to the stairs, somewhere less conspicuous than the commander's office. The sirens were wailing through the halls now, armoured soldiers jogging to their posts; through the long windows of the corridors I could see the bridges being raised, blockades starting to get up both sides of the river. _Dammit!_

_Okay, find Johnny, then find something with enough grunt to get us off this fucking island_. It's a base with an _armoury,_ it had to have _something_. I moved swiftly down the corridor, halting at the heavy sounding footsteps jogging in unison approached. Pressing myself into a door frame the small squad trotted past and I slipped onto the end of the small crowd, trying to keep place. With any luck, they could unwittingly lead me to some place that had a lot of explosives stored away or at the very least, out of this building. This place wasn't really a maze, but every corridor looked the same; I was stuck jogging along with this squad who began filing down the stairs to the ground level. Well, at least I'd be getting closer to Johnny, with any luck. Splitting up was a bad idea…

They jogged through the doors and started splitting up when they hit the road, uniformly falling into separate teams; some went left, others towards parked Bulldogs and the last two-

To the large airpark and helipads on the other side of the road. I only hesitated a beat before following them, just as a calm, feminine voice began echoing through the speakers in between the wailing of the sirens.

"_Attention all personnel. Base has been infiltrated by persons dressed as STAG officials. They are wearing grey street-patrol armour. Incapacitate and detain any street-patrol personnel."_

At that I spirited myself instantly from the line, ducking between the long warehouse and the fence, rushing down the narrow passage – not a good position if anyone should see me. Far down the road I could see some STAG soldiers in camo turn on another whose armour was grey; even as he obediently laid face down on the ground they pinned, handcuffed then _tasered_ him.

There was a side door into one of the holds and I drew back, bracing my arm and throwing my shoulder against it. The door shuddered and it was a few more attempts before it fell inwards, me crashing down onto the slick concrete floor on top of it.

I grunted, my shoulder aching and I looked up and into the darkness of the hangar, before flicking my visor up to see better, pushing up and creeping through the rows of stock. Looked like it housed transport cars, with any luck there'd be something here with a turret on it.

I grunted as I tripped over a thick cable on the ground, stumbling forward and catching myself on a steel pylon. I cussed under my breath, glaring at the cable and my eyes followed along to where it led-

Something tall, maybe twelve, fifteen foot, supported by scaffolding. My lips parted a little as I frowned curiously, stalking up to the thing. I blinked through the half darkness, eyes starting to widen, mouth pulling into a disbelieving grin at what I'd found…

* * *

Cyrus marched through the chaotic hallways, his lieutenants flanking him as he barked orders and marched outside to the road.

"Send squad A to secure the docks, keep all bridges raised. I want air support, these could be Saints spies and we know they've got aircraft at their disposal."

"Sir Saints have been spotted massing by the Eastern bridge-"

"Make sure they're cleared out, you know what to do."

"Yessir."

He halted abruptly in the middle of the square, surveying the armoury which was pulsing and buzzing with action as his soldiers carried out their duties. He smirked darkly to himself.

"No way those thugs can fight their way out of th-"

_**KR-BOOM!**_

The doors of Hangar 3 blew forward heralding the giant fireball - it sent all the nearby STAG soldiers flying and the doors slammed into the two VTOLs that were in the way. Cyrus stumbled back, an arm over his eyes as he crouched to avoid the airborne, flaming debris that sailed out of the airfield.. He coughed through the sweeping smoke and stared disbelievingly at the huge black hole where the hangar doors once were, the ground shuddering as rhythmic, pneumatic hisses fell in time with heavy metallic foot falls.

Through the smoke and flames, the huge, humanoid machine slowly, awkwardly thudded its way out. The main body was round and headless, a golden sheen over the front bullet-proof windshield obscuring the driver within. The rest was a glossy chrome, bulky and heavy armoured limbs and ebony black turrets on the 'arms' and 'shoulders'. It turned as if to look in their direction-

"Captain!" his lieutenant yelped, weapon drawn and aiming at the machine, "Did you authorise use of the TATU?"

"NO!" Cyrus roared furiously, drawing his own weapon and opened fire, the super heated lasers pulsing rapidly out of his gun. But the shots barely left heated scorch marks over the armour; the turrets on the thing whirred before releasing a deep _thboom_, two large grenades sailing at them. Cyrus shouted a furious curse as they dashed and dove for cover, falling to the ground and covering heads as the explosion shook the whole world around them, shrapnel pelting and sticking in their thick armour; another hit like that and they'd be done.

The air was thick with shouts, sirens and gunfire as every soldier in range opened on the mech. It was hammered with bullets and lasers, chipping at the armour then bouncing off like rain from a tin roof. It lifted its arms as to point at a Bulldog that came screaming around the corner, turrets whirring and with an ear-splitting hammering sent a hailstorm of bullets into its enemies. The armoured truck that had been racing at them swerved and the tyres blew out, sending the truck lurching and skidding along on its side. STAG soldiers shouted and ducked for cover, others not so quick or lucky as the barrage of heavy artillery cracked through their armour, their bodies jolting an ugly dance of death before falling to the ground. The mech turned then, an arm sweeping away the chainlink and barbed-wire fence between it and the road. I too large, clunking steps over the road and towards the building, right up close as if the driver were trying to look into the second story windows. The arms rose higher above it and a tri-clawed fist drew back and punched through the glass.

There was a crackling on its external speakers.

"_-ucking damn i- wait, is it working? Yes!"_

The voice was distorted through the speakers but clearly feminine, almost familiar enough for Cyrus to recognise as he bellowed orders over his radio. The mech pulled out another window, edging quickly along the building, hunting for something and Cyrus felt a thrill of utter fury race along his spine.

"GOD DAMMIT!" he roared, hitting at his gun furiously to cool it so it could start firing again, "_How_ do they even know how to _drive_ that _thing?!_"

The mech hunted along further, clumsily ripping out more and more windows as it went.

"_Fuck me in both ears where is he…?_" it voiced,_ "Johnny! You in there? C'mon babe-"_

The mech suddenly halted as it spied something.

"_Hey!"_ With that it reached into the building and as quickly yanked its arm out again, a person in grey armour clutched in its 'hand'. The man was struggling and shouting something inaudible over the chaotic gunfire.

"_Quit'ya bitchin' Faye Raye, we're getting outta here… what-? _I_ found it you can have a turn when we get back."_

The mech suddenly turned as a series of grenades were peppered their way, the arm coming up to its 'chest' to protect the person in its grasp from the gunfire and shrapnel. The gold-sheen shell on the front lifted open only briefly to allow the captor to clamber inside with the driver- in a moment two voices were heard from the speakers, male and female, alternating.

"_Thanks. Where the hell did you get this thing?"_

"_EBay – hold up, there's not much room in here-"_

"_Yo I call second test drive!"_ The robot rounded on its assailants and started firing again,_ "What's the plan for getting' outta here?"_

"_Kill the motherfuckers between us and the exit?"_

"…_Well I got no problem with that. Hey what's this do-?"_

"_Don't tou-"_

**KRA-BOOM!** A small missile blasted from the right shoulder and blew an enormous, fiery hole into the building sending the mech stumbling back a step. There was the briefest of ceasefires as the STAG soldiers took cover.

"…_Whoops."_

"_Don't just go hittin' random buttons."_

"_They aint random, they' labelled. Look, vehicle mode converter, release locks to activate-"_

"…_I'm thinking we turn these speakers off first-"_

"_Why, so Cyrus don't hear us call him a pig-fuckin' cumstain?"_

This was only followed by a hearty laugh, then another explosion of gunfire as the mech started slowly stalking its way north up the road, squads of foot soldiers were fast retreating out of the way of the giant death machine. Cyrus was shouting into his communicator –

"Clear the area! Send in the tanks or an air strike if you have to, I want that thing stopped!" he clicked the com off and started desperately firing again at the prototype, his rage spurred on by the two infuriatingly blasé voices still chatting through the external speakers.

"_So why'd they name these things after a shitty fake-lesbian Russian singing duo?"_ The male voice asked.

"_Beats me. Initials for something?"_ The female replied.

"_Eh, probably."_

"_TATU… uhh… Tricked-out… Autobot… something something?"_

The turrets on its arms whined as it started clearing a path to the draw bridge.

"_Tactical Assault Transformer Unit,"_ The male voice said with a little interest.

"_Hey not bad, how'd you get that?"_

"_It's written here on the control panel."_

"_Huh. Kinda takes the fun out of things – shit, we got company-"_

The robot turned to face the two large tanks rolling their way out of the furthest hangar, the canons atop them swinging into aim.

"_Oh fuck-"_

"_How fast can this thing go?"_

"_I dunno it's a fucking robot I can barely make it walk!"_

"_Hold up-"_

"_What are you-"_ the female's voice was cut off by another clearer, robotic one. The mech jolted, whirred, and with pneumatic hisses the armour plating began sliding back as it lowered to the ground, wheels folded out, and

"_Vehicle mode, engaged._"

The robot had slid back into a clunky, car-like form. It looked like the mechanical-bastard offspring of a tank and a drag-racer and after jolting forward a little the engine purred. The tyres suddenly screamed over the two heavy _booms_ of the tanks, the car speeding across the base, swerving and shaking as the two massive explosions of the missiles hit the road, leaving flaming potholes. The car slid around a corner, lining up and aiming for the eastern draw bridge blockaded by the Bulldogs and guards, currently trying to stave off the Saints massing on the other side of the island. The engine roared as it accelerated forward; the turrets that were once on the shoulders were now lined alongside the car and started whirring, firing the last of the artillery into the blockade.

Hit by an assault of explosives and bullets, the Bulldogs gave and exploded, shockwaves pulsing through the base and huge orange fireballs blossoming behind them-

And the TATU car hit the bridge, flying up the raise through the flames and sailing over the river.

* * *

**Hmn... I worry sometimes that I might be spinning too many plates with this fic. Or maybe that's because I'm not looking down the barrel of chapter-after-chapter or resolutions to _how many_ things I got going on here...**


	27. Beyond Life and Death

**Thanks for the feedback guys; doing my best not to leave it for as long as I did last time, though getting so close to the end of this fic has left me... hmn. Feeling a little bereft.**

**If Johnny seems different this chapter, it could be because I've been playing a lot of SR1 lately (missin' the good old days) and he's got a... 'younger' attitude there.**

* * *

I laced my fingers under my chin and rested my elbows on the desk, glaring down at the map, files, and reports from Kinzie. Idly I shifted them, letting my mind tick over and formulate the plan of action. STAG, Luchadors…

We were between a rock and a hard place.

Launch the attack on Port Pryor and STAG might try and get involved, not to mention Killbane might be scared off and we needed him coming back. Focus on STAG and they'd try and hit back harder, just like last time till the city became a policed state and ground to a stop.

But as I stared at the printed satellite image Kinzie had sent me, as well as the note attached, I knew I had no choice but to hit STAG, and hard. My fingertips rested lightly on the image – bird's eye of a large warehouse that sat on the edge of the river, across the way from Arapice Island.

After all the information we'd gathered, Kinzie all but promised me that was where they had him. A warehouse kept separate for on-site research (that close to an island of zombies, no question what they were studying) and was being overseen by none other than Cyrus Temples favorite scapegoat, Nathalie Frost. In a magnanimous move he'd gotten her back into the works, though I had a suspicion it was because he knew we might be targeting that warehouse.

"…Carlos…" I muttered sadly, but simmering with anger. I had just wanted him to rest and have a little dignity. And Cyrus had fucking stolen him.

I reached over to where my phone was lying on the table and tapped it awake, scrolling through till I found Viola's number. I'd been discussing the plan on and off with the crew over time, but now I'd made up my mind.

The phone buzzed a few times before it was answered.

"_Ngh… whassit?"_

"Viola…" I greeted, 'I know it might be a bit late-"

"_Late? Wh… it's four am..."_

"It is..?" I pulled the phone away from my ear and looked to the clock. 4:12. "Huh. Anyway, listen; I'm staying dead. For now, at least."

"_What?"_ She suddenly sounded much more awake,_ "Are you sure about this? We need to show a position of str-"_

"No," I said flatly and shook my head, "If you tell Mayor Reynolds and leak something to the press about my death being confirmed it might give Killbane a reason to come back into the city. Maybe even make Monica Hughes think she can lift out STAG. If it doesn't, fine, but at least then they'll be letting their guard down."

There was a simmering silence on the other end, _"…I guess you make a point-"_

"I know I do. I'll get word out to the rest of the crew, get Shaundi to spill some things-"

"_We'll do a memorial service?"_

I blinked, "What? Uh… yeah, I guess…" Weird thing to be thinking about, organizing your own fake funeral… I shrugged it off, focusing on the more important things, "I need this out fast, okay?"

"_Why, you planning something?"_

I smirked, picking up the satellite photo again. "Well… how many people can take out revenge for their own murder?"

* * *

A few hours later and I was in the armory, checking over my rifle and getting ready, examining everything on the table in front of me. I don't know if it was nerves (it'd be very strange if it was) but I was feeling sick again, just like when we went to hit the STAG base not two days ago. My stomach churned, causing a small headache to blossom behind my eyes. Leaning forward and pressing my palms down on the table I heard footsteps approaching behind me, but the uneven thud told me who it was and I felt myself smile. My shoulders relaxed a little as a warm hand slipped around my waist, tugging me in slightly to a warmer body and matched with a firm kiss on my jaw.

"So accordin' to the morning news, you're officially dead," Johnny said lowly, letting his chin rest on my shoulder and I leant my head against his, willing away the churning in my stomach. He smelt good today…

"Are people dancing in the streets yet?" I joked and I felt his torso shrug with a silent laugh.

"Give it time. Though your old fan base is goin' nuts… and the phone's been goin' off the hook. A lotta Saints didn't know what happened to you after we sunk that STAG ship so most'a the crew is believin' this."

I nodded, my hand covering Johnny's as it rested over my stomach, "It won't be for long," I said then smiled, twisting in his arms to face him and letting my hands come up to rest over the firm muscle of his chest under his loosely buttoned shirt. "So, how's it feel to be the Boss?"

He quirked a half grin. "Hadn't thought of it like that," he chuckled, looking me over. Or more likely, down my top from his current vantage point, "Been a while since _you_ were the one on _my_ crew," he suggested and I snorted.

"You never had a _crew_, just went off and did shit on your own," I said and I felt him press back against me till he had me leant against the table. Sure didn't take a lot to put him in alpha mode.

"What's that you said to me the other day?" he smirked, his hands slipping down lower and getting a firm hold of the waistband of my jeans and he hoisted me up so I was sitting on the table, bumping guns and grenades out of my way, "Pot-kettle?"

I only responded by leaning in and kissing him; he matched me impatiently. That warm, complex feeling of both longing and wholeness rushed under my skin in a hot shiver… I felt him deepen the kiss, tongue claiming my mouth and turning the warmth to heat-

It took every ounce of self control to pull back; I had a siege to prepare for after all. But who knows? The sexual frustration might help. Johnny rested his forehead against mine.

"So what's the plan for today?" he asked, sounding resigned, though the way his thumbs still brushed over my hips suggested he wasn't about to give up so easily.

"The warehouse across the river from Arapice Island…" I said with a slight nod, "We went over everything we got from the base, Kinzie worked her magic… about ninety-nine percent sure that's where he is."

His thumbs stopped massaging at my hips, and after a moment his grip on me tightened.

"…If he hurts you, I aint gonna hesitate puttin' him down," Johnny said as he leant back from me, "You gotta know that now."

I lifted my eyes to his, feeling my jaw set. "Just give me a chance to get to him."

He was looking down at me with this steely expression, then rested his forehead against mine, seeming resigned.

"Just remember… It might look like him, but it aint. That kid wouldn'ta ever done anything to hurt you."

I only nodded. We were quiet for a moment when Gat leant back, noticing something a few paces over. He blinked at it then smirked, sauntering over to the crate.

"You brought this all the way to Steelport?" he asked pulling back the canvas and grinning. I smiled warmly.

"I wasn't about to leave it behind," I said as Johnny hoisted up the flamethrower, still covered in his messy 'tags'. He ran his hands over the cool metal.

"Hel-_lo_ old fuckin' friend," he chuckled and I smirked.

"Well, with Shaundi and Viola on recon, Pierce in the sky today, I could use some backup on the ground when I draw him out. I know Pierce is callin' in some of his boys but still-"

"Yeah well," Gat mused slyly, "I was thinkin' of taking my _latest_ present out for a spin."

I felt a pout snap over my face, "Hey! The TUTU or TATU or whatever was never a present, it's for _sharing_," I scolded and he chuckled, shrugging and reverently lowering the flamethrower back into its crate.

"My turn today though," he finished and my smile broke into a grin.

* * *

I had to go separately on a bike; just another Saint foot soldier today, not their commander – though since I was used to doing grunt work alone it wasn't as strange as I thought it'd be. The helmet and biker leathers I hoped would obscure my identity, and my guns were all new, void of any signature.

I groaned inwardly, another wave of nausea rising up into my head as I rounded a corner. I battled it down and tried to crush the nerves that came with it. I told myself that people get sick, that this had nothing to do with Carlos or that whole 'drowning' thing…

_Just focus. You're almost there, and there should be some Saints backup waiting when you get to the w-_

My com link buzzed in my helmet and I fiddled to answer it.

"Yeah?"

"_Hey B- uh, hey,"_ Pierce's voice answered, _"Just so you know uh, there's a few more Saints here than just my crew,"_

I blinked, "Yeah? How many?"

I slowed as I rounded the last corner through Loren Square, eyes widening as I saw car after purple car…

And as I looked down the road that lead to the raised bridge by the warehouse…

"_Lots Boss. And they aint happy."_

_It was crazy_ – more Saints were rallied than I thought possible, sheer numbers overwhelming all resistance and flooding the streets; deafening shouts, molotovs flying through the crowd breaking open in pools of liquid fire over the windshields of the STAG trucks.

It had taken just _one_ text from Pierce to go viral and every Saint in Steelport had stormed the street. And not just the Saints; people in plain clothes, the Steelport biker club, the street walkers, some goth kids… like STAG 'killing' me had finally given a reason for this city to stand up for itself. _Why_ I had no idea, I was a fucking menace to society. I couldn't help notice either, that the Steelport Riot Police were conveniently absent… when all this blows over, I was buying Mayor Reynolds a beer.

Not to say there wasn't another side; those protesters I see out the front of Planet Saints were there, behind the lines of the STAG soldiers and cheering for my death.

I swung off the Kanaeda, already getting lost in the thick throng of bodies jostled every way like I was at a Rammstein concert, only this was a crowd of furious people out for revenge. I felt myself smile and even sniff a little.

It was sweet, really…

Of course I hadn't really been expecting this sort of reaction, which might cause some tweaking to my plans. I climbed up on top of a car where a few teenagers were screaming and throwing glass bottles and stones over the crowd at the STAG soldiers trying to hold the line. I shoved past them to a fire escape, hauling myself up and turning out to survey the scene; in the distance in the sky, purple dots were buzzing, our choppers. A few streets over I saw huge STAG bulldogs trundling towards the scene. I clicked on the com in my helmet.

"Gat! We got Bulldogs closing in – I dunno if they won't open fire on civilians-"

"_Don't worry baby, I'm on it,"_

The trucks rounded the corner and began advancing on the thick purple crowd; they held strong, then through the uproar of the crowd a single shot was heard.

That was all it took. The turrets of the bulldogs whines and began pelting the road in front of the crowd, the air above them; but the scare tactics were only brief before the bullets were turned on the people themselves.

The roars turned into screams and gunfire; people started scattering as Saints began charging to fight back. I crouched on the fire escape and jacked a grenade into the slide of my faithful SR-50, snarling and quickly firing it at one of the Bulldogs; the cracking explosion lifting it clear off the ground in a thick orange fireball.

Then Gat showed up.

Loud, metallic thuds of the mech's footfalls shook the buildings and people began scrambling again as it stopped behind the Saints, missiles rising from its shoulders. I could hear Johnny's dark laughter echo through my earpiece and he fired.

_SSHHHW-__**BOOM**_

People's screams became raucous cheers as the Bulldogs were blown away, burning shells of the cars flipping through the air and down the street into the STAG grunts and the protesters hiding behind them. The shockwave rattle buildings and blew out windows, shards of glass raining down on the soldiers. Below I could see the crowd nearly halving, civilians escaping leaving mostly Saints left, fighting on, and Johnny continuing his rampage, the narration still feeding through my com link.

"_Oh what was that motherfucker? You thinkin' you can take on a giant fuckin' robot -**BOOM** bitch! That was SA-WEET! - Oh hey STAG dude that's an impressive laser gun you got- FUCKIN' STOMP! HAHAHAHAHAHA!"_

I smothered my giggles, swinging down from the fire escape and landing catlike on the pavement.

"Shaundi," I said, waiting for her feed to come through-

"_The fuck is Johnny doing?"_

"Playing Voltron?" I grunted, dodging over bodies and through the thinning crowd, firing into any STAG that were getting in my way, "Any sign of Carlos?"

"_Not yet. How bout you Oleg?"_

"_Nyet. Viola?"_

"_Still trying to find a way in from the west side, this riot was a little unprecedented. Johnny?"_

"_BURN MOTHER FU- what you say-? YO OUTTA MY WAY CUMSTAIN!"_

"Never mind," I said quickly, shaking my head and keeping low as I pulled off my glove, "I reckon I could draw him out."

Instinct was the only thing I could work with here. I turned my rifle onto the front windows of the warehouse, unleashing indiscriminately; the glass shattered and fell away and inside I could see workers screaming and scrambling for cover.

"Come on…" I muttered, "Send him out, defend yourselves-"

I heard a shout nearby and made a quick dash for cover behind a car, bullets and lasers pinging off the metal – I snapped a fresh clip into my rifle and aimed over the hood, squeezing down the trigger and spraying bullets into any armored body I could see.

I didn't even hear him approach…

The blow cracked into the side of my head and sent me flying again, though this time the biker helmet covering my face shielded me from a concussion. I tumbled along the ground before rolling to a stop, quickly pushing myself back up onto my feet and glaring across the road. I knew who it was before I even looked up. I could feel him.

Carlos stood, half braced, half swaying, his torn up body sealed away again in light STAG armor. Past him and back inside the building I could see one woman crouched and still among all the action, grey hair, white lab coat… shouting something at him in French.

I pulled the knife from my boot, crouched low and cat-like, quickly bringing the blade to the bared palm of my hand and sliced a deep gash without looking. Carlos glared vacantly at me, sucking in a deep growl when the smell of my blood was in the air.

"Hey Carlos…" I said lowly, and he began slowly stalking to me like a feral animal. I pulsed my fingers to get the blood flowing, "…You hungry?"

Another greedy purr and the zombie flung forward at me; I braced for the impact and he slammed into my body – using the momentum I spun with him, slamming him down onto the hood of a car and pinning his body beneath mine, the grey torn flesh smearing marks of black blood over my biker leathers.

I had to trust Yveline was right, that this would work, that having faith in the charms around my neck would be enough to protect me… like Carlos once promised they would. I growled furiously, mashing my palm over the zombie's mouth and letting the blood from the cut seep past his skin.

"You're fucking _mine_ Carlos!" I hissed at him, "Not STAG's, or Killbane or Cyrus, you belong to _me!_"

It was a moment more of struggling before he began to subside, and I was pinning a motionless corpse to the side of the car. There were voices over the com link in my head but I ignored them; Carlos' mouth moved over my broken skin, and I felt him latch, and barely drink. I blinked at him.

"…Carlos?" I ventured, uncertain in his sudden quiet, "Carlos look at me."

It was a moment before that single doe eye rolled, focusing on my face. My eyelids fluttered again, feeling my heart leap a little and I edged backwards from him, my hold slackening. Then a hollow, cold chill ran through my body, a strange shiver that didn't go away, as if my temperature dropped another degree and stayed there. The cuts and shreds over his face slowly, bit by bit started to seal, only the tiniest bit before they stopped… then I swear I saw an expression. Something tug about his mouth and brow, softening when he saw me.

Fuck… _it worked_. I carefully released him and looked over my shoulder to the wild melee, STAG soldiers still trying to beat down on my Saints.

"Carlos," I said and I heard him give a prickly purr by means of response. I glared at the remaining STAG soldiers.

"Kill."

A feisty growl was his response and he pressed off the car at full force, charging past me and leaping at one of the STAG soldiers; the soldier screamed and fired and though the lasers pelted into Carlos' abdomen, he didn't seem to care. I felt a rush of elation; Carlos snarled and ripped at the man's body, breaking an arm, teeth tearing into whatever exposed skin was there. The man's armor was splattered… _alluringly_ with blood; I clamped a hand over my slowly, coldly bleeding wrist, the scent of it all in the air was so… _sweet…_

Out of nowhere, it hit like a tidal wave, this sick feeling I'd been trying to suppress all morning engulfing me full force. My head spun and stomach churned and I wobbled, knees about to give underneath me and I dropped onto the concrete, bile rushing up my throat so quickly I barely had time to wrench off my biker helmet before vomiting into and all around it.

I buckled further down onto my hands and knees, incapable of even thinking as my insides squirmed like eels and another wave of vomit erupted out of me both disgusting and relieving, bitter acid blinding all of my senses.

My eyes and nose were running and I groaned, only a little aware of two skinny arms around my middle, tugging me away.

"Shit lady, this your first day on the job?" a sassy voice grunted but I could only burp, followed by a short dry retch. After a moment the world stopped spinning and I started using my legs, stumbling along with the Saint who sat me behind a purple car.

"Must be, I think I saw a boot come outta ya," she said and I felt her brushing some of my hair away and wiping down my face with a bandana, then suddenly freeze. I blinked my eyes open at her, eyebrows lifting slightly in recognition.

The once fluffy blonde bob had been chopped a little shorter at the back but aside from that, Dice hadn't changed much over the years. Now the right hand girl to Pierce's right-hand man Artemis, she worked with a rifle nearly as big as she was, 'Baby' the pink crowbar still hung faithfully from her belt.

She was staring at me with a little disbelief, fast melting into excitement.

Followed by a squeal.

"OHMAIGOHD!" She cried, lunging at me so quickly I barely had time to react as she threw her arms around my neck, laughing.

"Fuckin' aye Boss I _knew_ it, I _fuckin' knew_ you weren't dead!" she laughed. I was too shocked and queasy to do much other than sit very still.

"…You might wanna get off me," I warned and I felt her halt, then suddenly pull away, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

"Yeah yeah sorry, sorry I uh…" she cleared her throat, going from thrilled to awkward to just a little terrified in about one second. I glanced around; gunfire was still rattling over our heads and I wanted to see what was happening with Carlos-

Dice was saying something. I like that kid but damn she could run her mouth sometimes…

"And when I tell Bl-"

I quickly clipped her over the ear, drawing my gun.

"You're not telling anyone shit, got it?" I warned and her nose crinkled as she pouted, rubbing at the side of her head with a reluctant nod. I glared over the hood of the car, the battle still raging. At least the churning in my stomach had settled a little… I pulled the bandana down from my hair and used it as a kerchief to cover my nose and mouth and with any luck keep obscuring my identity. Carlos was still tearing into any soldier that dared try and get close to me, but the armor he wore was fragmenting, wearing down as STAG fired on him. I narrowed my eyes coldly, swinging my aim out and letting the ammo from my rifle fly. Beside me Dice proper her rifle up over the bonnet of the car, glaring down the sights and braced her entire body as she started unloading the clip.

"Pierce," I said, index finger to the communicator in my ear and a crackling response came back almost instantly.

"_You done there Boss?"_

"Yep, take the stage," I said, clicking the com off – and not a moment later, the high buzz and _whuush_ echoed around the buildings, as the bright purple VTOL swerved into view. Saint were scrambling for cover before STAG knew what was happening, just as the VTOL clicked and whirred, the missiles unsheathing under it's wings.

Time hung in the air for the briefest moment, before twin deep _BOOMS_ thudded through the air, followed by screams and sirens-

And the earth-shattering explosion as the missiles slammed into the lower levels of the warehouse.

The fireballs bloomed up from the building, devouring the structure and incinerating everything within. Carlos shambled slowly away from it, halting in the middle of the road and swaying gently as all around us the STAG troops were retreating to regroup and dragging their wounded away, our few Saints chasing them off with what was left of their ammo.

A few of the lab workers were being piled into an open-back truck and that one middle aged woman, her graying hair held up by pencils was having to be forcibly held in place.

"_Mon fils!_" She was screaming, her lab coat almost burnt off her body as she wrestled against the guard, the truck tearing away down the street, still pelted by the gunfire of my Saints.

"_Aight crew job's done!"_ Gat's voice boomed from the speakers of the TATU, _"Clear out before they regroup."_

Most Saints were cheering loudly with the thrill of their victory; others were dragging the wounded – or worse – into their cars, already tearing out of there. Senator Hughes wasn't going to like this; but maybe Burt could convince her from there just how unwelcome STAG was in my city.

I was still standing amongst the destruction, cold and queasy. And staring at an equally still Carlos.

The noise was dying down, or maybe I simply couldn't hear it anymore. Yveline had been right. I don't know _how_ right but… I could feel it. That connection, stronger than before, colder than before. He shambled slowly over to me, smothered in the hot, sticky blood of his victims. In the back of my mind I realized Carlos didn't look right covered in blood.

He looked too much like me.

I closed my eyes as he halted close to me, prowling around a little, glaring at anything that might have been a threat. The thought of losing him again wrenched at me like my own survival instinct, an unnatural fear that was fighting everything I'd promised I'd do once he was under my control again.

That I'd let him die, and not be this… this _thing_.

I hated seeing him like that. For someone who'd had so much soul, it was an insult to stare at an empty shell now. I wanted to remember how he _was_… thoughtful, loyal, a little cocky when he wanted to be.

I reached out a hand to his, but his fingers didn't curl back around mine.

"Carlos," I said gently and he leant in closer to me. I closed my eyes. We had to end this for him.

"You need to rest, like you did before. You need to die."

It was horrible, not like before – the words could barley form in my mouth, like that icy feeling in my blood was physically fighting me. Carlos made no sound, just leant in closer still and I rested my forehead against his, the open, tacky bullet hole leaving smears of dark blood over my skin. I swallowed, not wanting to have to say those words again. When I did speak, I could barley form them, my throat dry, my tongue feeling swollen and a dry retch convulsing from my abdomen.

"…Rest in peace."

His dead body slumped into my arms and I dropped to the ground under his weight, kneeling in the street. If anyone was still fighting, we couldn't hear them.

* * *

I grunted, dragging another piece of driftwood up the short shore and dumping it onto the pile, a bead of sweat running down my neck. A few paces off and Shaundi huffed as she broke a stick over her knee, throwing it onto the pile. Tasha was kneeling in the sand with Pierce over the body wrapped in our jackets, a palm to her eyes. Reece was carrying two huge logs, one under each arm as Johnny slipped down from the dunes, carrying a tin of gasoline.

Twice I'd buried him.

_Twice_. And I was here again.

Yveline wordlessly adjusted the sticks on the pile; she wanted to be there, not for any sort of ceremonial reason, but I guess, because she felt a little responsible. A part of me was glad she was there.

I fiddled with the silver pendants hung from around my neck and stared vacantly at the huge wooden cairn which Johnny had stared pouring the petrol over. Tasha and Pierce lifted the body in the jackets, slowly carrying it over and laying it over the wood.

I reached into my pocket, finger curling around the now barley-used packet of cigarettes and drew them out, taking the silver lighter that was tucked down the side. I realized the lighter was till the same, the one I'd taken from Jessica.

A perfect beautiful balance, hmn?

No one said anything, the only sound the soft _hussshh_ of the waves over the shore. We all stood in the sand, and I stared at the silver lighter, thumb brushing over the carvings. Eventually I flicked it open, a soft yellow flame flickering to life. I drew back my hand, and tossed it into the driftwood.

There was an uncertain moment, and the flames caught, an almighty _wwhhhuuuuf_ as the orange fire raced over the wood and engulfed it, the searing heat burning over our skin. It licked up into the indigo sky and began devouring the wood, the fabric around the bundle in the center of it catching and curling as it burned.

I couldn't breathe for a while; I kept thinking that maybe he was still conscious or that he could feel what was happening. My fingers lifted to my necklace again, curling around 'Mary' and 'Leonard' and I watched. As the minutes passed the fire began to devour everything, growing into an inferno trapped by the sand.

And something broke.

Like an elastic band I didn't know was being stretched had snapped back into place somewhere in me, I can't quite explain it. That chill was still there in my slowly pulsing blood but I felt… like I was filling my own skin. No, I can't explain it…

I jolted at a sudden touch, glancing over my shoulder. Johnny was there, an arm gently wrapping around my middle, his expression stony. I leant into him, watching the flames and smoke dance together, lifting the embers up into the sky.

* * *

**Well, that's one plot point I won't let myself use again... ehem.**


	28. The Battle for Port Pryor, Part I

**Good news is, the next three chapters are, collectively, about 98% done. On the other hand, it means this fic is about 99.9% done... *wanders around, lost and aimless***

* * *

Another star faded in the sky as dawn inched closer.

Killbane stepped down the ramp and onto the docks, straightening his green tie as he did. He gazed up at Three Count with familial fondness, an eye twitching when he saw the lights were still in shades of purple. But that could be easily fixed.

"And so the Gods return to Olympus," he said, walking down the docks and greeted by the newest lieutenants. One, a burly black man wearing a silver and green mask stepped forward, a hand out to greet his 'leader'. But not even the mask could hide the begrudging curl about his mouth; not all Luchadors were able to greet their old leader with admiration. It was a tentative hold, as best.

"Sledge," Killbane greeted his lieutenants, shaking his hand, both men's grips a little too tight for comfort. Sledge forced an almost-smile.

"Killbane. It's good to have you back," he said, a lie that Killbane saw through easily. Sledgehammer, or 'Sledge' glanced past him, seeing more people disembarking from the boat.

Women, most of them oriental, all in black with yellow trims and armed to the teeth. Sledge raised an eyebrow and nodded.

"New friends of yours?" he asked, finally releasing the vice-like grip of the handshake. Eddie stepped aside, graciously holding out a hand to the women.

"I'd like you to meet your new sisters, the Kunoichi," he said. The women stood their ground, looking on at the Luchadors with cold disdain. Killbane's smile broadened as he continued.

"And of course their dear leader," he said as the women began stepping aside, another figure sauntering down between them.

Aiko's petite frame was wrapped now in a black leather catsuit holding together her shredded little body. Both forearms still stiff and bound, the blades still plastered right into the casts, something else added to her right arm. A thick, fresh pink scar, barely healed ran over her face, her hair now cut back short into a pixie crop. A single yellow strip ran up the left side of the catsuit, the only flag she wore.

"So these girls are helpin' us clear out the Saints?"

"Clear out…?" Aiko said, not quite handling the colloquialism, "We are here to slaughter them. _I_ am here to finish what I started."

Sledge blinked, looking the little woman up and down.

"…Yo I _like_ this one," he said with a wry grin and winked at her. Aiko looked away seeming bored, stepping around Killbane and continuing up the pier with her crew loyally following her. Killbane watched them go, his attention turning back to his crew.

"So," Sledge ventured while trying not to sound snide, "What's the plan now? You finally gonna take back what the Saints stole?"

Killbane spread his arms , his chin lifting.

"It's only a matter of time before their Empire crumbles," Killbane mused with needless drama, "But now I've returned to my city, I believe I should pay a visit to an old friend."

* * *

There had been an eerie stillness in the city the night before, something Angel couldn't quite place. An electric feel in the air, waiting to crack. He'd been restless, incapable of sleeping even now and no amount of driving or training would shake it.

Angel pulled up at the curb, killing the engine. He slumped back into his seat, staring at the dashboard for a while, exhaustion starting to creep at his eyes. He didn't understand it, how so much could have happened in such a small amount of time but he still felt like he was on glue.

All that time, training, fighting, tearing the Luchadors apart, becoming a Saint…

And Killbane was still out there somewhere, breathing. It still wasn't over.

He hit the steering wheel with his palm in sudden frustration that quickly bled away. Some part of him was still certain that if Gat had never come back, this all would have been over by now. And yes, he would have had the Boss. Angel's mouth widened into a frown.

It would've been a good alliance. Given time he probably would have easily filled that void and honestly never cared that she'd still love a dead man. Romantic passion was a dangerous pitfall as it was. Still, if a person was capable of that kind of love, he supposed they should deserve something equal in return.

Angel finally pushed open the side door, slipping out of the car and pulling up the hood of his purple jacket. He'd come far, he'd risen from the ashes… all he needed was Killbane's blood on his hands to set the world right again… _all he needed…_

Angel scowled at the pavement, muscles twitching and aching for training. _Be better, stronger_.

He picked up the pace, stalking over the parking lot to the old ruined Casino, suddenly lit by warm, gold light as the sun broke out over the horizon, bringing a new day. Angel pulled out his phone as the message tone rang out. An unknown number.

'_Welcome Home.'_

The pulse slammed into his body just before the sound did, an ear-shattering explosion blowing from the building and sending him flying back, the heat of the clouds of orange flame burning his skin and clothes, shards of glass and brick firing from the explosion- the cry caught in Angel's chest as the oxygen was devoured around him and for a moment his mind blacked out –

With a heavy thud he landed on the damp asphalt, tumbling along the ground to a stop. There was no sound for the ringing in his ears, no sight but the blinding white light and stars dancing in front of him. He shook his head, rasping a groan and slowly, slowly pushed himself up, a thick drop of blood plopping from his head onto the back of his hand.

He blinked, the ringing weakening as the sound of gushing flames and distant shouts pushed through into his ears. He rubbed his blinded eyes, the white fading, starting to reveal the old casino-come-gym…

The vintage signage was shattered on the ground, the raw face of the building beginning to crumple inwards as thick gold flame kept vomiting from every window and licking up into the indigo sky, smoke obscuring what was left of the stars..

Angel got to his feet, shoulders slack as he stared at it. Then, the smallest, darkest smile flashed over his face.

"We're finally at the end…"

* * *

I frowned, leaning over the toaster and glaring into it.

"Dammit."

I jerked the lever a few times and the hot bread inside shifted, but wouldn't budge.

"_Dammit_."

With an annoyed scowl I paused, then grabbed a fork out of the sink and stuck it into the toaster, carefully trying to pry my breakfast free. With a small jolt a piece broke off and crumbled to the floor. Trouble, impatient, licked it up in an instant.

"DAMMIT!"

I was hungry! In fact I was feeling down right nauseous again and just wanted some _fucking_ toast… I picked the silver machine up and held it upside down then banged it hard onto the counter. Once, twice, again and again but nothing came out till finally I thrust it away. I felt a bitter pout over my mouth.

"You have made a _powerful_ enemy today, toaster…" I hissed at it. Of course it didn't respond, just sat there, lording it over me. I felt a low growl bubble up from the back of my throat and I turned on my heel, stalking darkly from the kitchen and just about running into Pierce.

"Yo, easy," he chuckled then saw my thunderous expression, "The fuck is going on in here?"

"Why doesn't anything in this place work?" I snapped at him, throwing my hands out in frustration before shoving past.

"Er… sorry? You feelin' alright Boss?" I heard him voice and start following me as I marched over to the sofa, where I last kicked my shoes off. Or where I thought I did.

"_Where_," I stressed, the nauseous feeling becoming a headache which wasn't helping my bad mood, "Are my _fucking shoes?_"

"In the fucking closet-"

I snapped my glare up as Johnny strolled in from the gym room adjoining the living area. He was shirtless, and had a small towel slung over his shoulders and was leaning against the door frame, watching me with curious amusement. Stupid sexy bastard…

"Somethin' wrong?" he asked lightly and I clambered gingerly over the back of the couch, kicking a pillow away.  
"Toaster's broken," I grunted. "Trouble _piss off!_" I snapped at the tiger. He'd been pawing and prodding around me and at my shove growled to himself and wandered off, slumping down against a wall to sulk. Gat made a 'hmn' sound.  
"Hey, it's no big thing, we got cereal-"

"Do I look like I want Fruity Pebbles?" I grouched sharply – from the corner of my eye I thought I saw Pierce and Gat exchanging glances but _fuck them_.

"I don't feel good I just wanted some god damn toast… too much to _fucking_ ask…" I grumbled to myself. I could hear Gat's bare feet padding over the floor.

"It's aiight," he said steadily, like he was talking to a skittish horse, "I'll fix it."

I tore my gaze away from where I was furiously hunting for my shoes to watch him – and just in time to catch him lean in towards Pierce.

"Think she might be stressed-" he said with a wry grin. My nose crinkled and I sat down heavily onto the floor. Stressed. Oh sure, not like I had _anything_ to be stressful about. After a moment I heard Pierce climb over the back of the sofa, sitting down just behind me and a heavy hand landed on my shoulder.

"Boss… you sure you okay?"

I didn't trust myself to speak, just squeezed my eyes shut and nodded. Pierce gingerly rubbed a hand over my back.

"Cos… if you need to talk about Carlos or-"

"No."

"…Did you ever get a checkup after the uh, boat thing?" He pressed, "'Cos you were really in some trouble there-"

I wanted to say something back but swallowed carefully instead, and Pierce kept talking.

"And _you know_ what happens when you run yourself into the ground, right? Just… get yourself checked out."

"Pierce, I'm fine," I said and a gush of saliva filled my mouth. I quickly swallowed again, "Just need something to eat."

With that a plate was dropped down in front of me, four slices of buttered toast fresh and waiting, an unpeeled orange and a bottle of Seven-Up still cold from the bar. I blinked then looked up over my shoulder to see Johnny smirking at me; a wave of pure gratitude and adoration filled me then and I smiled back up at him. Did I say bastard before? I meant _hero_.

"Yo it's just toast, not the Hope Diamond," he said with a chuckle.

"Yeah but how am I supposed to eat the Hope Diamond?" I said, turning quickly back to my breakfast and cramming it into my mouth. _Could use something saltier, olives maybe._

There was a beat of silence – I could feel Johnny studying me.

"You feelin' sick?" he asked flatly. I was halfway through washing the food down and was about to answer before my phone rang. I wrestled it from my pocket and checked the ID – Angel.

"Yeah?" I answered flatly.

"_He's called me out."_

I blinked, a half slice of toast crammed into my mouth, "Whhr? Whrrn?"

"_I got the message just now."_

I could hear him moving in the background, getting things together. I hurriedly chewed and swallowed, "Angel hold on a sec-"

"_No! I've been waiting for this for too long."_

I was up on my feet then, "At least till the crew gets there, you're walking into a trap-"

"_I know it's a trap. But so long as I get to Killbane it doesn't matter."_

"You really think he's gonna give you that chance?" I snapped down the line, "Cos y'know, Killbane is _all_ about _honor_."

"_You want me to sit on my hands till then!?"_

I put a hand to my forehead, squeezing the pressure points on the bridge of my nose.

"…Half an hour," I said flatly, "Just gimme half and hour and we'll be there."

He grunted his reply before hanging up on me and I stuffed my phone back into my pocket, turning on Johnny and Pierce who were watching me expectantly.

"It's on?" Gat asked and I nodded.

"It's on."

* * *

The plan had been in place for a few days now. Everyone knew their jobs, and when they got the call, they were ready. Our scouts had been taking note of their operations. Kinzie had been monitoring their networks.

And now, everything was barreling into motion, as the Saints flooded Carver Island.

I tilted hard on my bike as I swept around a corner, eyes covered by huge aviators, hair wrapped up in a bandana, still trying to protect my identity. My 'death' had brought Killbane out of the woodworks and I wasn't giving up that advantage just yet. As I tore up the bridge towards Three Count, a slick black Vortex flicked around the corner and raced up beside me – Viola's car. I looked to the blacked-out windows and nodded, glaring ahead to the skirmish out the front of the Casino, a single figure in purple surrounded by Luchadors.

I accelerated hard, the front wheel almost lifting from the ground and I kept my head low, gripping the bike tightly with my legs as I aimed my specialized TK Urban, glaring down the sights and squeezing the trigger – _BBRRRRTT BRRT BRRRRRRT!_

The gun barely jolted in my hands as potholes of blood cracked open on the Luchadors – beside me Viola's Vortex purred as she picked up speed and whipped the car around, the side plowing into the crowd and her gun plucking off anyone she'd missed.

I slid to a stop, quickly flicking my aim to and fro as I finished them. I swung off my bike, going to where Angel would crouched and breathing heavily, a palm on the road. I hooked a hand under his shoulder.

"This is why I said _wait,_ Angel," I chided. He didn't really need my help to stand, no matter how injured he looked. There were tears and cuts in his clothes, blood was running down an eye from an open gash on his forehead. Despite that he turned his fiery, bloodthirsty gaze on me.

"Why? I knew you'd come," he said, smiling slightly. Viola stepped out of her car, strutting over impatiently.

"So where is he?"

"Penthouse, I'll bet," Angel growled, turning to face Three Count.

"Resistance?"

"You bet."

I glared over my shoulder as the noise on the island began to rise, green trucks and purple cars starting to race around, gunfire echoing.

"Come on," I said, sticking another clip into my SMG, "Let's finish his ass."

* * *

Pierce revved the engine of the purple Criminal, charging forward into the thick of the operation; the Luchadors had been milling under one of the bridges, but startled, opened fire as soon as they saw the truck charging them. Pierce ducked behind the wheel as bullets cracked into the windshield and pinged around in the cabin, then heard the shouts and felt the heavy thuds as he ploughed over the thick mess of bodies.

"Fuck yeah!" voices shouted from the tray of the Criminal, "The Saints are here!"

He drew his gun and flung the door open as his crew jumped from the back, guns spraying bullets into their unprepared targets. The blitz was sudden and over in a matter of a minute, his backup already clambering back into the still-running truck and ready to hit the next site, Pierce climbing back into the drivers seat.

He pulled out his phone, hitting a speed dial number and impatiently putting the receiver to his ear as he tore off the grassy knoll and onto the street, tires screaming as he sped away.

"_Sup Pierce?"_

"Artemis, your crew done at the packin' plant yet?" he said quickly, glaring as he slid the car around a corner.

"_Almost. A couple tried to get away, Little Sister's chasing them down."_

"Stay on it," Pierce said, hanging up and dialing to check in with the rest of his crew, as they closed in on the next operation.

* * *

The giant robot clunked and turned, blocking the bridge up to Three Count as Luchador trucks began closing in. Inside the machine, Gat was glaring through the windshield, translucent displays flitting about before him as one of the targeting system locked on. He twisted the controls feeling more and more at home in the transformer as he went.

"Learn to drive stick…" he muttered sardonically, "Make the car a fuckin' robot and I will."

"_Alert. Incoming hostiles detected,"_ The computer warned kindly. Gat's glare darkened.

"Not a problem."

He twisted the controls, seeing the glowing crosshairs for the different weapons slide to the cars – bullets zipped past and pinged off the armor, some chipping the amber windshield. Gat chuckled darkly, thumb mashing down on the weapons controls.

The TATU lurched with a little recoil, the two thick cannons on it's 'shoulders' pulsing and firing the RPGs into the thick of the enemy. They dove out of the way, propelled by the huge firey explosions engulfing their bodies and burning them alive, only to be hit again as the trucks exploded, now blackened shells _lifting _from the ground, engulfed in flame. In a matter of seconds he'd all but vaporized the backup for the Luchadors trapped in Three Count; he grinned darkly at the smoking wreckage.

"Transform and roll out!" He chuckled (privately glad no one was around to hear it) and flicked the switches over the dashboard before him. The robots shuddered, whined and slid gracefully back into its vehicle mode, the drivers controls whirring back from an upright to a seats position. Johnny crunched his foot onto the gas pedal, expecting the car to leap forward-

It lurched, slowed, and then lazily rolled a few paces. He hit a palm on the dashboard cursing, gaze falling on the gas meter.

Empty.

"You gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me…"

With an angry grunt he unhooked the lid of the 'cockpit' and clambered out, scowling and kicking the car.

"The mileage on this thing fuckin' sucks…"

There was a whistle by his ear so close he felt the wind cut, and a clanking _thud_ as a silver throwing-star stuck in the plate armor of the TATU, quivering a moment before dropping to the ground with a light _clink_.

Gat turned sharply throwing his glare across the road, a glowering snarl when he realized who it was.

The three women were familiar; dressed in black, trimmed in yellow flags. The one on the right was twirling a sai in each hand – the left, a tall woman with what looked like a spear.

And in the middle… that _tiny little bitch_. For the first tiem Aiko Akuji was smiling laughingly at Gat as she stepped forward, the blades strapped to her forearms glinting in the morning sun.

"All this time, so many years, and you _still_ make mistakes like a child," she jeered, the tiniest bubble of laughter kicking the end of her sentence. Gat's fists clenched hard.

"Must be pretty fuckin' humiliatin' to know your shithead brother got his punk-ass served to him by me then," he said, voice dry and dripping with sarcasm. In an instant the smile vanished from Aiko's face.

"Kyoko, Gracie," she commanded and the two women either side of her nodded, then sprung forward into a charge. But Gat drew before they saw it, and with two sharp _BANGS_ each woman stumbled and dropped down, coughing, groaning, hands clutching the bullet holes in their chests. Gat snorted, shaking his head and smiling as he twirled his Shepherd around his index finger.

"Yo didn't your _daddy_ ever tell ya not to bring a sword to a gun fight? Ohh wait that's right," he said thoughtfully then snapped her a cruel smile, "My girlfriend killed him. You know I forget shit like that sometimes."

Aiko's shoulders hunched and she began shaking with utter fury, slowly stalking forward. Johnny smirked even as he braced himself.

"What, you gonna cry? Go ask your big brother to come beat me up for ya? _Ah no_, you can't do that _either_ huh?"

With a shriek she lifted her cast right arm, fingers flexing and the tiny gun barrel mounted on the back of her wrist fired- Gat gave a short bark of pain as the bullet carved a thick bloody gash into his right forearm, the suddenness of it making him drop his gun and clamp a hand over the wound.

Aiko lowered her weapon, smiling in spite of herself. It was a home made mechanism and only had one shot before it could be reloaded – she wished she hadn't wasted it with such poor aim. But guns were not her particular talent. Gat met her fierce glare with his own, ignoring the agony as he squeezed down over the wound to help stem the bleeding.

"Fine," he growled, "Let's end this you little cunt."

* * *

Shaundi patted her hip blindly for a full clip and swore, throwing the gun away when she realized she was out of ammo. She grabbed the knife strapped by her ankle, snarling as the pack of grinning Luchadors circled and started to close in.

"All outta ammo Ho?" one of them said with a smirk, his fingers twitching hungrily as he took in the tight clothes clinging to her shapely body, "You know I always wondered if you'd live up to that reputation of yours-"

Shaundi snarled as she warped her fear into aggression, fists clenching as the masked man launched at her-

There was a furious roar from above and a flash of white and crimson, blood suddenly spraying over the brickwork and Shaundi shielded her eyes as she was splattered with blood, cringing and looking up when it stopped raining red.

The Luchador was still standing, twitching, even with the giant sword cleft into his neck and down into his chest. With another roar the sword was ripped free and the banger crumpled to the ground, revealing Nyteblade standing behind him, fine locks of dark hair fluttering over smoldering eyes.

Shaundi's jaw dropped as he turned on the others, crimson cape swirling around his armor.

"You _humans_ are predators too," he growled, "_Swine-_"

The Luchadors seemed too stunned and horrified to react for a moment, falling back as Josh launched at them, the guise of Nyteblade making him fearless. The sword hushed through the air and cut through assailant after stunned assailant. Managing to get her bearings Shaundi grappled for the gun from the Luchador body at her feet, sneering and firing as the mass of green-clad men tried to overpower Josh. Her bullets found their marks, cracking into the heads of those Josh hadn't cut down till the pair stood amongst a pile of crumpled, bleeding bodies.

'Nyteblade' turned to her then, stepping forward and in one swift move swept her up into his arms.

"My Love," he declared, as he began carrying her to safety "Did they hurt you?"

"For fucks sake put me down I'm fine," Shaundi said quickly, squirming in his grip and he obediently lowered her feet to the ground, though kept a firm hold on her. Shaundi looked at him incredulously, taking in the Knight's bloodstained, shining armor.

_That's not even fair,_ she thought as her heart insolently fluttered against her will.

"You're fucking insane, you know that?" she accused, though her voice was wobbling and a hot blush was creeping onto her cheeks. She felt like she was in a Georgette Heyer novel…

Josh only swept a tendril of hair from her face, index finger trailing down to gently lift her chin.

"The curse of _love_ will always come at that price," he said throatily. The adrenaline still hot and pulsing in her veins Shaundi scowled and pulled away-

Josh tugged back on her wrist just as firmly and he fell back into against his cuirass, palms against the ivory steel and she looked up into his face.

In a dramatic sweep he dipped her and captured her lips in a passionate, chaste kiss; Shaundi's surprise gave way to instinct, and she wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing back even harder.

* * *

People through the casino were screaming, trying to escape as my Saints swarmed them, up-ending tables and destroying machines, and battling furiously with the Luchadors who tried to stand in our way.

Angel, Viola and I stuck close together as we pushed through, rounding the corner to the private elevator – I halted in front of it, realizing the lights were all out except for one red one, blinking above each shaft.

"_Fuck!_" I snapped and Viola all but stamped her foot.

"They've shut them down."

"No shit!" I barked back angrily – she took the attack with good grace though. I pulled my phone from my pocket, clicking a speed-dial number. Not even half a ring and Kinzie picked up.

"The building's in lockdown," I said quickly, jamming a thumb into my ear as Angel suddenly ripped a few rounds from his rifle into some Luchadors who'd tried to chase us. I had to shout the next part, "Can you take out their security from there?"

"_Already on it. They've recoded the systems but I still have access points from before… just a moment…"_

I felt my foot bouncing impatiently, eyes scanning the elevator for any sign of life. There was a gentle whirr, then the lights blinked on. The elevators doors _dinged_ softly, sliding gently open. I grinned and spirited myself inside instantly.

"Thanks Kinz… _and you said_ you weren't a deus-ex-machina!"


	29. The Battle for Port Pryor Part II

Johnny grunted as Aiko's foot punched into his stomach and he staggered back, then took the momentum and hit back with a counter. She was slippery as ever, dancing out of the way of his hits then darting in to try and strike, the fine edges of her blades nicking and slicing at him. Gat growled and went to hit her but like a phantom she was gone again, pouncing out of the way and with more speed than he thought possible cutting open a fresh wide gash over his shoulder blade.

"Sit still you little bitch," he growled, pausing and waiting for her to lunge in at him again-

The air whistled behind him as she attacked; he grabbed her forearm tightly and pulled her in close to get an arm around her neck.

"Not gonna keep hoppin' around now," he warned; her back was pressed against his chest and she hissed and swept her arm back trying to hit at him but he quickly caught it, the blade slipping into his grip. Gat cringed but fought back the pain as the blade sliced open his hand, his grip on it getting tighter and he pulled, the metal coming loose and breaking free from its bindings with such a jolt Aiko broke free, stumbling forward just as Gat turned the blade on her-

There was a thick _crunch_ and Aiko gasped, eyes flying wide as her legs went limp and numb beneath her. Gat felt himself twist the blade between the vertebrae and she gave a gurgling, strangled whimper till finally he ripped the blade out and she dropped to the ground, paralyzed. Gat winced and put a hand to his side, seeing his gun a few paces off and he walked to it, giving another cringe as he bent to pick it up from the road.

Aiko coughed a bubble of blood, staring up at the sky. Gat slowly stalked back over and stepped onto her sternum, drawing a small, strangle squeak from her as he pushed his weight down, aiming the barrel of the gun between her eyes.

He watched the tears slowly slide down her cheeks, mingling with the blood and seeping into her hair, cherubic lips trembling.

"_Gomenasai, chichiue,"_ she whispered.

With that shot after steady shot rang out from the pistol, the entire clip unloading into the young woman's head, crushing it, firing brain and hair over the road and forever destroying what was left of the Akuji bloodline.

Johnny lowered the smoking gun, staring at the mess that was once Aiko's pretty face. He felt himself frown a little.

"…Expected _that_ to be a bit more satisfying."

* * *

We crouched on the elevator car and I looked up the shaft as we raced up; Angel reloaded his rifle and Viola unhooked a pipe bomb from her belt. I felt the car slow as we closed in on the penthouse floor, all three of us bracing as it gently slid to a stop at the top of Three Count.

I glanced down through the roof hatch and into the elevator car. Below we heard the doors gently _ding_ as they slid open-

Followed by ear-shattering gunfire from whoever had been waiting for us on the other side. Bullets pinged and ricocheted inside the car before someone yelled out to stop firing. Viola's fingers twitched and she lit the short fuse on the pipe bomb as we heard them get closer-

"Now!" I stage whispered.

With a grunt she swung her arm back and threw the bomb down through the roof hatch and out the elevator doors. People shouted and panicked and were suddenly silenced by the loud KOOBOOM. With the guise of smoke Angel dropped down through the hatch first, snarling as he opened fire into the Penthouse. Viola and I followed, throwing ourselves into the melee.

There were more here than I expected and I couldn't see Killbane right away. I felt a jab to my ego when I saw every bit of Saints paraphernalia that had been left in the penthouse vandalized with green spray paint.

Angel was battling off more Luchadors than any of us; they'd recognized their old 'leader' and descended on him. Viola wasn't fairing much better; she might be tough, but she wasn't built for war. I fired, hit, kicked, used whatever I could to clear my way through the Luchadors-

Then I saw him.

On the split level, escaping down the hall. _Escaping_.

That _pig_ _fucker!_

"KILLBANE!" I roared after him, a challenge. I threw a Luchador off me and spared one short glance to Viola and Angel.

"We got them!" Viola shouted, "Get to Killbane, don't let him get away!"

My feet dug in to the ground and I sprinted, vaulting over the table and up the stairs after him, shoving through the crowd and crashing through the door to the stairs, huffing as I pushed up them.

"You fucking running Killbane?" I roared out breathlessly, furiously. Fucking _pussy!_

I glared at the door to the helipad, jumping and throwing my shoulder into it and crashing out into the hot morning light-

KRAK-_BANG_

The bullet slammed into my chest, sticking in the Kevlar of my biker jacket and knocking the wind out of me. I toppled backwards and thudded onto the concrete, blinkup up at a clear blue sky. Stunned and gasping for a breath the pain was pain pulsing through my torso. Killbane stood a few paces over, the last wisp of smoke from his GDHC vanishing, and he chuckled. I coughed, listening to his footsteps approaching.

"So here we are," he said lowly, "Two _titans_ among men. Worshipped by mere mortals for bringing them blood and fire… But _this_ moment," he said, indicating with the pistol between himself and me, "This moment was an inevitability."

I glared up at him as he halted over the top of me, the gun hanging idly between his fingers. I felt my nose crinkle into a bared-teeth growl.

"So's me killing you."

He laughed again, his aim slack and wavering. I kept my dark glare on the gun.

"Oh no no…" he purred lowly, his eyes narrowing down triumphantly at me, "The Saints legacy ends here, not with a _bang_, but with a _whimper…_"

I felt myself deadpan. The thought stealing some line was intimidating? "Are you for real?" I snapped, laying still as I mentally crushed the pain and rallied my strength, "Look around. You can hear your crew getting wiped out even from here. _It's over _Eddie. In two weeks no one's gonna remember your name."

"No one will remember me?" He said, voice rising sharply, "You were a fucking clown, selling energy drinks and lunchboxes." He crouched down beside me then, beetle-black eyes boring into mine, "You didn't care about the crown, just the paycheck. And I changed that."

I coughed, feeling coppery blood over my tongue and lips, the pain rattling through my chest again and I collapsed onto my back, sick, dizzy… "Bullshit."

"Trust me," he said, standing and holstering his gun, holding his hands up before me, his shoulders dropping back, "When these hands are crushing your throat, your dying breath won't be an appeal to God, or a message of love to your family, it'll be… _thankyou, Killbane_."

He was a gloater. Something that should have been a rookie mistake, instead the vice of all the egotistical fucks like him and me.

"I'm gonna enjoy shuttin you up," I muttered.

I rolled back up onto my shoulders and kicked out, my heel slamming up between his legs and crushing his nuts. Killbane cried out and dropped to his knees; I coughed again as the pain in my chest pulsed angrily; I rolled over, wincing and clutching a hand over the bullet still lodged in my jacket.

"Ngh… _no!_"Killbane growled, and I felt a thick hand grab my ankle; he dragged me back and I kicked out hard again into his face, a burst of blood exploding from his nose but he didn't let go. A heavy fist cracked over my cheek and I saw stars, a puddle of bile lurching up the back of my throat and I desperately swallowed it back. An animalistic snarl roared up from my lungs and I turned on him, clawing up his arm and to his face till my nails tore bloodied trails down his skin. He was wrestling with me, his grip on me getting tighter and tighter.

The door was flung open and I heard Angel shout out, then the sound of him grappling with someone, gunshots, Viola shouting, but all my bloody focus was on Killbane.

He struggled up to his feet, taking me with him.

Killbane grabbed me by the front of my shirt, lifting me clear off the ground and I grappled at his hand to stop myself being hung on my own clothes. The swinging motion didn't help; my mouth filled with saliva and my stomach churned. He snarled up at me.

"Any last words Saint?" he sneered. I cringed, my eyes watered and I was too nauseous to think of anything else. My nose went tight, my stomach turned over itself again-

"…I'm gonna be sick-"

"What-?"

_SPPLLAT_. Four slices of toast, a naval orange and about half a litre of seven-up raced up my oesophagus, erupting all over Killbane and his haggard green suit.

There was a split second of stunned silence.

Suddenly he let out a horrified yell and dropped me; I hit the concrete and crumpled, wiping my mouth and feeling much, _much_ better. Killbane, not so much.

"OH GOD!" he was shouting furiously as he dry retched and tried to rip my bile off his skin, "OH _Christ_ it's in my _mouth!_"

I pushed myself up from the asphalt and hunted for Angel and Viola; I spied Angel curled over on the ground near a few dead Luchadors and convulsing; I'd thought he'd been shot, till I saw him roll over and heard him _screaming_ with laughter. A few paces off and Viola was buckled over herself, a hand over her mouth and eyes shining as she laughed so hard sound no longer escaped her. I snorted, then started to chuckle myself; I'd never seen Angel _or_ Viola laugh but they were _crippled_ with mirth now, even when Angel tried to get up he was still doubled over.

Killbane didn't seem to share in the joke. He roared, wiping more dregs of vomit from his eyes and turned back on us blind with rage.

But my head and (and stomach) were clear, and I was ready. I grabbed the knife from my ankle, flicking the blade out and springing catlike out of his way when he charged, leaping back into him as he tried to turn on me. I drew my arm back, swinging the blade down hard into the hollow by his shoulder – the blade glanced around the Kevlar vest beneath his suit jacket and buried into his flesh and he roared in pain. With a sadistic snarl I pulled the blade out and swung it down again and again, stabbing at any part of him that wasn't protected.

The blade made a sticky _shhlk_ as I ripped it from his arm, and realized I was straddled over his chest then; he'd dropped to the ground, blood pooling from the countless wounds over his limbs and face.

He shuddered, groaning through gritted teeth as he glared up at me.

"Go on," he growled sardonically, "_Finish_ it."

I huffed, wincing at my aching body as I slowly got up to my feet.

"I would," I said, and he looked up at me with confusion. I wiped the blood from the blade on my leathers and closed it.

"But there's two people here who deserve it more."

I turned and walked away, Angel and Viola brushing past me as they approached Killbane. I met Angel's gaze for one moment, his dark eyes grateful and he briefly clapped a hand to my shoulder.

But Viola… who was always so calm and impassive showed nothing but pure, bloody murder in her eyes, ravenous, deadly. I wondered if that was the look I'd had when I killed Sharp for Lin, or Maero and Jessica for Carlos. The look she had as she took revenge for Kiki. I stepped up the short stairs from the helipad, glancing over my shoulder to see Angel and Viola descend on Killbane like vultures, taking their revenge. He roared in agony, he struggled-

And then, as Angel stepped down onto his throat to hold him in place, Viola pressed the last clip into her Shepherd and leveled it between Killbane's eyes. His last strangled gurgles were drowned out as she fired, shot after shot till the gun clicked empty and his head was a mess of blood, bone and brains over the helipad.

She was breathing heavily, her and Angel exchanging a look both tired and invigorated. The thick quiet was broken as the news helicopter swung back around the top of Three Count, the wind of the propellers pulsing gusts over us. I narrowed my eyes up at the light, seeing the flash of the camera lenses from within. I guess the world was going to know I was still alive then…

I glared up at the camera, chin lifting defiantly. There was no way they'd have heard anything I said, but I knew it wouldn't matter. Angel and Viola saw it too, standing just as still, looking back up with as much coldness and fearlessness as I did.

_Go ahead world_, I thought, _Come at us._

* * *

Cyrus pressed his palms to the desk, glaring at the speaker of the phone, picturing Senator Hughes furious expression as her voice filtered through.

"Failure after failure Cyrus! This can't stand anymore!"

"And what did you expect to happen?" he shouted back sharply down the line, "I told you! I told you from the beginning, extreme threats need _extreme_ responses. These Saints are a militia of their own; _you know what you have to do_. You should have done it months ago!"

"Temple, releasing the Daedalus is-"

"Your _only option_ if you really want this taken care of. While ever they think they can best us, they'll keep fighting back like a bunch of punk kids."

The senator didn't respond. Cyrus could imagine her, struggling. He leant in to the phone, speaking slowly, clearly.

"You _know_ what we have to do, to free this city."


	30. A Falcon in the Dive

**Kind of hard to believe I'm here again. But looking at the numbers I really am grateful for all the amazing and constant support from all of you.**

**To three people in particular, Haleigh, Kris and Jeff; not a day went by where I wasn't gasbagging with at least one of you, sharing ideas and being inspired. So mates, this one is for you, with all my love!**

**...Ps, Would you believe I've never actually played this mission?**

* * *

I turned on my stool at the Broken Shillelagh so I could lean back against the bar and survey the room, waiting for my drink. We were all there; Shaundi sitting over with Birk, looking half annoyed and half amused by whatever he was rambling to her. Pierce was playing darts with Zimos, listening to Angel and Viola retelling my 'glorious' victory over Killbane. Even Kinzie had appeared, bandaged shoulder now out of the sling and capable of hopping around with a cane, even with her foot in a cast. She was wearing sunglasses even inside; her eyes were still tender and she hadn't been too clear about just _how much_ her sight had returned. Johnny was standing next to me, arm slung lazily on the bar behind me. It was bandaged right up to the elbow, covering all those thick cuts.

"So…" he ventured, taking a swig of beer and looking sideward at me, "We goin' back to Stilwater?"

I felt a small smile lift my mouth. Going back home was something that had been worming its way into my mind lately, usually late at night. Truth was, I missed Stilwater. Steelport had its appeal but it felt like… what I imagine a holiday home feels like. Or having a mistress.

"I think so," I said, nodding slowly, "I haven't been home since your funeral; stuff needs to be taken care of. What?" I asked, noticing Johnny had shivered slightly, but he was smirking.

"My funeral," he repeated, "Creepy shit."

"Creepy wasn't the first word that came to mind," I added with a slight shrug. After a beat I nodded again. "Yeah. I wanna go home."

"Who'll take on Steelport?"

"I'm thinkin' Pierce." I hadn't even properly considered it, but I was surprised to find it was the first choice that came to mind.

"You splittin' the crew up?" Johnny asked, sounding a little surprised. I blinked up at him; I knew he wasn't talking about the whole crew. He meant 'us'. Him, Me, Pierce and Shaundi.

"Only if they want it. And Pierce… he deserves this." I added as an afterthought, "Besides, Steelport suits him. I think he really likes it here."

Johnny didn't answer right away and I nudged him, "Don't be such a baby. They're neighbouring cities you can see your boyfriend any time."

"Fuck you babe."

"Patience," I retorted with a wink and he grinned back slyly. My attention was caught by Pierce' sudden raucous laughter matched by the still foreign sound of Viola's chuckling; Angel looked like he was miming someone throwing up and I cringed realising what part of the story he'd hit.

"That would have been so god damn gross!" Pierce barked through peals of laughter, "I have only ever seen her puke _once_ and it was after half a bottle of vodka two joints and some _serious_ munchies!"

I chuckled and shook my head; he's right, I never really get sick like that. Food poisoning? Eh, whatever. I leant in a little more under Johnny's arm as his hand brushed my skin gently. I glanced up at him; he's got that wry, laughing smile as he watched the trio continuing to regale the story.

Not much in the mood for retelling the Saints Vs Killbane tale for the hundredth time I popped another olive into my mouth, glad my stomach was finally settling. Johnny makes fun of me for my olive and anchovy addiction, but it was weird; it had never caused me to be sick in the mornings bef-

…Before.

_Oh shit._

Prickling and cold, dread ran up my spine. It was the thirty-first today… My fingers twitched and I counted days off in my head. I blinked, panicked, and recounted when I got well past thirty.

_I think I'm gonna be sick_.

"Hey, you alright?" Gat asked with a nudge. I nodded hurriedly without looking up at him. Naturally he nudged me again, a little more concerned and I was suddenly praying for a distraction, _any_ distraction…

A deep hum vibrated through the air.

Everyone in the bar fell a little quieter; I glanced at my drink, seeing ripples across the surface of the water as another deep hum, louder now, shook the building. Instinctively I unhooked the SMG that was hung over my shoulder like a security blanket, finger stroking the trigger. I could feel the sound more than I heard it, so low and heavy in the air it echoed right through my body.

Then the crashes- distant explosions that started shaking the whole building, glasses shuddering and jumping from the bar and people started screaming, ducking under tables or crushing each other to get out.

The ground shook again and I stumbled; this was no earthquake, the screams and horns blasting outside told me that. I started shoving past the crowds wordlessly with the crew close behind, pushing our way out the front of the bar-

Johnny was right behind me, growling, "The fuck is hap-"

He cut himself off; we all went quiet as the huge black shadow swept over the street, hot whirlwinds whipping down from above and in unison we lifted our eyes to the sky.

"…Fuck a dead leper…" I muttered.

It lurched ominously through the sky, so huge and heavy it seemed utterly impossible_._ A flying fortress the size of a building, hovering above the skyscrapers, VTOLs lifting from the top of it as thick lasers and rounds and rounds of ammunition wound down from the barrels on the underside. Hatches opened from the monstrosity's belly, dropping bombs that cracked into buildings indiscriminately, blowing fireballs and raining glass down on the streets. I felt my jaw dropping at the sheer magnitude of it.

"GET DOWN!" Gat suddenly yelled, grabbing me and pulling me to the ground as a VTOL shot by lowly, laser sweeping wantonly at anything in its path and blowing a hole into the shop front opposite. I could feel the radiant heat from it and smell the cracked, burning tar of the road, along with flaming blood and hair of a pedestrian who just wasn't fast enough. I looked up, the moment of shock melting into the moment of action.

"The fuck are they doing?" I heard Shaundi shouting over the chaos

"I guess if they blow up every building we're bound to be in one of them," Pierce shouted back and I snarled.

"Fuck that! We're breaking their little toy!" I spat and rounded on my crew, "Get everyone out of here, send out the calls. I need everything we got airborne!"

I didn't wait; they were a good crew, they'd know what to do. I raced instead for the road, jumping and sliding over the hood of the Bezier, slipping off and throwing myself into the car. Get threw open the passenger door and climbed in.

"Plan?" He said shortly and I revved the engine, foot slamming down onto the gas and firing us down the streets.

"Destroy the big thing, and don't die."

"…Doable."

He hung out the window, watching for where the bombs and lasers were falling and shouting directions for me to swerve. My phone buzzed in my pocket and I shifted to wriggle it free, hitting to answer with the speaker. Oleg's voice crackled through the tiny speaker.

_"I'm trying to get people to shelter, but it's chaos down here,"_ he huffed, the mayhem and screams echoing down the line. I drifted the slick car around a corner, speeding for the old HQ.

"Try the parks. Parks and docks," I said absently as I focused on the road – over the line I heard Oleg cursing something in Russian and ended the call; I could only trust he was alright as my phone rang again, and I mashed my thumb on the screen to answer it.

"_I can't get into any of the systems on that airship,"_ Kinzie's voice said quickly, _"I'll keep trying, but no pro-."_

**BWWOOM!**

I yelped as the shockwave sent the car swerving sidewards and I ripped at the steering wheel, tyring to lean into the drift. I felt the car's end slam into a wrecked truck, ending the spin and causing us to leap forward again. I spared a glance to the rear-view mirror, a huge fireball lurching from the building behind us.

My heart gave a heavy thud and I realised my left arm was nervously wrapped over my belly. I forced my hand back to the steering wheel, scanning the road as we closed in on the familiar building.

"Jesus Allah Buddah, let there be a chopper up there," I muttered as I jerked the steering wheel and bumped up onto the sidewalk, hitting the breaks hard and sliding to a stop. Johnny pushed out of the car and I followed suit, both of us sprinting inside for the elevator, the Bezier still running.

The doors slid open to the lower level armoury first, Gat charging in certainly and grabbing the biggest, meanest looking gun he could find, throwing a belt of ammo over his shoulder and tossing a second SMG to me as I grabbed a belt of satchel charges. I wished I had more time but there was no way of knowing when that flying fortress was going to round over here and take out this building; the old Saints HQ _had_ to be a target. We jogged up the stairs and out past the pool to the helipad and I swore-

No chopper or VTOL. Just three Spectres lined up to the side, left there for emergencies. Of course, why would we leave a helicopter at a base we'd had to stop using? I stepped forward to the 'bikes' as I glared out through the city, finding a much better view of the fortress.

It was that same white and beige colour as almost everything STAG owned and shaped like a wide platform, a floating battle ship. It was held up by huge turbines on the outside of it, thick gold flame jetting out from them under the strain of the airship. I was caught in awe again, watching the thing as it birthed more VTOLS and bombs. From the city, purple specks, the choppers and planes the Saints owned were rising and darting about the fortress but making next to no impact other than distracting the VTOLs shooting about.

I felt Johnny's fingers close around my wrist.

"Where the hell have they been hiding that thing…?" He muttered and I scowled.

"A fucking WMD just because they want a couple of bangers dead," I said sardonically, swinging a leg onto one of the Spectres and starting it up. Johnny hesitated only a moment before climbing on behind me.

"…Flying motorbikes?" he ventured and I smirked, twisting the controls and lifting into the air.

"Another gift from STAG and it's all we got at the moment. Hold on."

He did. I switched modes instantly, shooting forward and dipping out of the way as a VTOL swooped too-close.

"Parachutes might have been an idea," Gat called out over the wind and I frowned. Yes. Yes they would have.

The closer we got to the fortress the more I realised just how fucking huge it was, it's massive shadow looming over us. Huge gun turrets twisted like feelers, firing down at the city below.

"Yo, keep it steady," Gat said loudly and I dared slow the Spectre; Gat quickly took his hands from my middle, swinging the rifle from his back and jacking a grenade into it, bracing himself and firing – the grenade pelted into a turret and blew it out, the barrel sailing down to the ground below.

"Nice shot," I said, twisting the Spectre again as I dodged through the dog fight, "But-"

"It aint gonna do jack, I know," Gat called back bitterly, then tapped me on the shoulder, "Get up higher?"

I nodded and his grip tightened on me and the bike as I surged upwards. The fortress made me think of a rain cloud, drifting high above, pouring down death. It might be more vulnerable from the top.

"Holy shit," Gat commented flatly once we had the bird's-eye view of the fortress. The centre of it was a huge rectangular ring, an expanse of air the size of an Olympic swimming pool puncturing through the centre of it. Like a military base or giant transporter, it carried not just VTOLs but Bulldogs, tanks, soldiers…

"Like the Thermopylae grew wings," I said, chewing my lips. With that the plan bloomed in my minds eye.

"I think I got an idea," I voiced, aiming the Spectre down and weaving between the lasers being fired at us from the soldiers on the deck of the fortress; but one clipped the underside of the bike, jolting us up and causing the engine to cut out; we both shouted out as the bike kept sailing in a free-fall arc onto the deck-

I jumped from the bike, bracing myself and landing with a painful, heavy thud on the armoured ground of the fortress, letting the momentum tumble me along. I head Johnny land a few paces away with a furious, painful grunt. The Spectre crashed and slid right past us, slamming into a wall and bursting into flame.

Immediately, bullets and lasers were zipping around us and I felt a hot _phtew_ as one clipped right by my ear, searing my skin and burning my hair. We dashed for cover, crouching by a parked tank, Gat grinning darkly as he let fly with the rifle and I sprayed short bursts from my SMGs when he ducked to reload.

As soon as he was covering me again I scanned the area, one simple objective in mind. _Flying fortress? Tear the wings off_.

This thing was loaded with fire power and ammo; all I had to do was turn it all on itself.

I spied my first target. A rack of large bombs, ammo for the tanks I think… a few yards away and calling to me.

"Gat, cover me," I called over my shoulder, making the low dash along the structure; none of the soldiers would be willing to fire once I was right next to a rack of high explosives but still, I had to work fast. I stuffed the satchel charge in, packing it tightly as I could.

We were lucky; they hadn't expected an attack from above, or anyone to have actually made it up here. Johnny was clearing the deck quickly and earning us precious few moments before the next load of grunts would come charging around the corner.

Johnny sprinted after me to keep up as I raced around the edge to the next rack of bombs I could find, sirens starting to wail overhead warning of intruders on the ship. I growled with concentration as I set up the next satchel charge, re-rigging it like the first. I had to put them on timers – to use a trigger I'd have to be in-range, and to be in-range meant getting my ass blown up along with this fucking flying beast.

It did mean we were running against the clock now.

"I got a few more, then we're blowin' this joint," I said as Johnny guarded me with firepower.

"Yo this aint he time for puns!" he shouted back with a laugh.

"Not intentional - happy coincidence!" I called back, the bomb making a merry trill as it was set.

I unhooked my SMGs and ran with Johnny down the ship again, legs starting to burn and I fired ahead to clear my path. A bullet zipped into the neck of a soldier, blood splattering out and staining the cream coloured ground among his other fallen comrades.

"There!" Gat called, nodding towards the last stand of ammo; I made a low dash to it and Gat fell back and guarded me. A thin drop of sweat ran down my neck and my deft hands wrestled with the bomb.

_Red wire's connected to-the, stop-clock_, the sing-song voice echoed irritatingly in my head. It finally trilled and I grinned.

"This'll take care of the front half…" I said, looking to the rear of the ship. It was further away than I thought, not to mention _multi levelled_. I gritted my teeth, "But we gotta get to those rear turbines."

Johnny nodded, "A little's good, more's gotta be better," he agreed, "Gonna have to fly there though."

I nodded, looking down the deck and waving Johnny to follow as I jogged for a VTOL Condor; it looked at if it had been preparing to take off before it was abandoned in our attack. I clambered up and tumbled in, Johnny slipping in after me as I lifted off. The Condor didn't handle as smoothly as the F-69 but it was enough; Gat manned the guns as I flew us up and to the rear of the airship.

It was a wider platform, dotted with small stacks of cargo. I glared over it, looking for another rack of ammo I could blow up and began easing the Condor down.

"There-" I muttered, spying my target by a helipad. We jumped and crouched down by the Condor for cover, finding our pace again as we'd run and fire, duck for cover and to reload, run and fire again.

"Too easy!" I heard Johnny laugh; he covered me as I finally made it to the last rack of bombs, stuffing the satchel charge in and twisting wires, my fingers slick with sweat. At the final beep I let go of a breath I didn't know I'd been holding in.

Johnny was still fearlessly killing STAG soldiers and as I ran lowly back to the crates he was crouched by I grabbed him by the shoulder.

"It's done. We gotta get outta here-"

He almost seemed disappointed to go, but nodded. As we almost made it back to the condor, a booming, metallic voice rose from the side of the ship.

_"The people dying below are on you and your Saints!"_

The voice echoed across the deck and I whipped around for the source; a shining black F-69 VTOL flew up to hover over the deck and I felt my lip curl into a dark snarl. I knew that voice.

"Cyrus?" I heard Gat say, dangerously low and threatening, "_That's Cyrus?_"

"_You're_ the one levelling the city!" I shouted at the black plane furiously though I knew he couldn't hear, "I came here to stop you!"

As if to respond, the laser of the VTOL whined and swept a short burst at me –I dived to the side and rolled behind the cargo, a blackened starburst on the concrete where I was standing only moments ago.

_"You'll never get off the Daedalus alive!" _Cyrus' voice echoed as the jet swung through the air again,_ "You drove Kia to insanity and killed her, I'm putting you down!"_

"Not before I shove that jet _up your ass!_" I heard Gat roar back venomously, "And don't think I can't do it!"

I wrestled with the lid of one of the crates, Johnny opening fire with what was left of his rifle. STAG had never let me down in the 'presents' department before and as I lifted the top from a large weapons crate, once again, I wasn't disappointed.

I lifted the silver Annihilator up, sliding a rocket into it.

"Gat! Get what you can from those crates!" I commanded, glaring down the sights and trying to get a target lock, "He's not walking away from this one."

I squeezed down on the trigger when the launcher beeped at me, lags braced for the full backlash as the RPG spewed smoke and fired. It arced through the air, chasing the tail of the VTOL – just as Cyrus barrel-rolled out of its way and the rocket exploded into a sentry tower, the black plane circling free from the smoke. I swore, dropping down behind cover again as Johnny pulled out a laser rifle, covering me as I reloaded.

Cyrus' mocking voice called out through the speakers. _"I've been a soldier longer than you've been alive. You can't defeat me."_

Something dark twisted through my body and I growled, snapping the new rocket into place.

"Watch me."

I stood up again, Annihilator on my shoulder and eyes to the sights just as Cyrus flew back into view. I breathed out, and squeezed the trigger.

The thick, low _boom_ of the rocket pushed back on me but I stood strong; it left a flaming, smoking trail as it raced in an arc after the VTOL, erupting as it slammed into the tail of Cyrus' plane. I felt a menacing grin of satisfaction watching it tumble and twist as Cyrus tried to regain control.

_"This is Temple,"_ he barked,_ "I need help on the deck."_

My dark smile widened and I lifted the Annihilator up again. _One more good hit-_  
The laser hit so hot and fast it was a moment before I could even feel it, before the agonising burn started radiating from my side and I buckled, my free hand gripping at my rib cage. I could feel where the laser had both cut and cauterised under my fingers. I heard Gat shout out to me over the sound of the firing.

"Just- a scratch-" I grunted, forcing myself to get back to my feet, a sinister glare over my eyes. _Use it_. Johnny was facing down the STAG soldiers that were starting to mass, just as Cyrus had commanded them. The ship suddenly shuddered and lurched, followed by the distant _kra-BOOM-kra-BOOM_ as my bombs started doing their job. Some soldiers simply turned and fled when they realised what was happening.

_"Explosions on the deck!"_ a voice called over the ship's announcement speakers. _"I repeat explosions on the deck!"_

My body shuddered and I braced against the pain gnawing on my side, lifting the Annihilator. I planted my feet, put my eyes to the sights and glared at the smoking mess that was the tail of Cyrus' black VTOL. The sound of the sirens and commands were drowning out-

_"All personnel to your escape craft!"_

_"Abandon the Daedalus! I repeat, abandon the Daedalus!"_

"Daedalus, huh?" I barely muttered, then smirked, "Fitting."

With that I crunched down on the trigger and the rocket fired, shooting out and slamming up into the left wing of the jet; it flipped and spun out, wing over wing, crashing and sliding across the wide deck of the Daedalus and ploughing through anything and anyone in it's path, then dropped awkwardly from the edge like a baby bird out of a nest.

I lifted my fingers to my forehead briefly in a mock salute.

"Nice landing Cyrus."

The fortress lurched violently again and this time I stumbled, dropping down to a knee. Johnny was jogging over, skin and clothes littered with black scars and scorch marks from the skirmish.

"C'mon, we gotta go," He said and I grunted, getting back up and scanning the wide deck.

"There!" I called, pointing at an F-69 in a small hangar. A fresh wave of burning pain rippled over my ribs and I cringed, gripping at the wound as we ran for the VTOL. The cockpit lid was already open, a bullet-riddled body dropped on the ground next to it. Gat didn't even pause as his arms wrapped around my legs and hoisted me up into the pilot's seat, then climbed in after.

I started flicking switches, never so grateful that I'd ever bothered to learn this shit. But the deck beneath the plane was starting to lurch, tipping to the side; from the corner of my eye I could see dead bodies and un-fixed crates sliding of the deck. Apparently Gat saw it too.

"Yo I don't mean to be pushy or nothing but-"

"Johnny I love you but shut the fuck up," I growled desperately, turning my frustrations onto the plane, "_Come on_ you sack of shit-"

The gentle, feminine voice sung softly at me.

"_Hover mode, engaged."_

The VTOL lifted from the sloping deck and I wrenched quickly at the controls, bumping the plane out of the way and twisting it in the air. The further back I got the more I could see – the Daedalus was dropping, faltering onto its side and picking up speed as it started tilting down towards the ocean, it's dark shadow still looming over us. I hit the controls.

"_Flight mode, engaged."_

"Seatbelts."

The jet punched forward and up shooting out into the sky – I hadn't even thought of a direction. Just, 'away'. I turned the little jet in a shot arc and switched back to hover mode when we were clear of it and sitting among the tops of the tallest skyscrapers.

The monster that was the Daedalus finally gave in to gravity. From far up here I couldn't hear the screams as it dropped. I could imagine the last of the piloting crew trying to wrench the ship to the water…

The deep, earth-shattering crash ran right up every building as it finally hit the water, taking the entire dock with it. The STAG base and shores of the Eastern Island were engulfed with the tidal-wave, all the while debris crashing down like flaming meteorites. Soon the world stopped rumbling, and the warship lurched to a stop, half buried in the bay, the other half crushing buildings that were too close to the water.

And everywhere, on every building on this island flames were giving way to thick plumes of smoke. Something painful lurched in my heart; this was catastrophic… A disaster that had devastated _my city_. What if this ever happened to Stilwater?

My mouth pulled hard into a vicious, bitter snarl. Of all the absurd things to have gotten angry about at that point…

It was Monica Hughes fucking hypocrisy. _This_, this flaming, smoking mess of broken buildings and mountains of dead bodies was them 'liberating' and 'protecting' the people from us evil Saints?

"We gotta get down there," Johnny finally said, his tone surprisingly low and quiet. My knuckles were white, my grip on the controls of the F-69 was so tight. I nodded, tipping the plane and starting the descent.

"Start making calls, see if you can get onto _anyone_." The dark, cruel growl rose from the back of my throat, "_No one_ does this to _my city_."

* * *

Justinian's hands were tight, nervous fists shoved into the front pouch of his too-big hoodie, his skateboard still sitting under one foot. In the distance, the smoke was still billowing from Loren Square. The boy turned his gaze from that and looked through his transparent reflection to the rows of TVs in the shop window. The streets were empty save for vehicles and emergency crews racing back and forth. His brow furrowed with confusion.

STAG were supposed to help the community… it was what all the ad's with Nyteblade in them had said. STAG were your _friends_.

He stared at the images on the TV. Fire… people bleeding and crying, buildings collapsing. This city was cruel, but he'd never seen _this_…

His chin jutted forward as he felt the hard pang of a first betrayal. STAG had demolished half the city and didn't care who was hurt. By all reasoning, that made them the baddies, right?

On the largest TV in the center of the shop window was a live news feed from the war zone only a few miles away. Justinian ran a hand through his scruffy mop of hair, eyes wide with confusion as he watched the report. It was like watching an action movie… he kept waiting for Bruce Willis to appear and save the day.

The image cut back to the studio, a handsome woman with a brunette bob and teal suit. It was Jane Valderama, and even _her_ exquisite professionalism couldn't hide the pain and horror that haunted her, just as it did everyone else.

_"Even in a place that is no stranger to violence, today's assault on the city stands as the blackest time in Steelport's sordid history,"_ she reported. _"While the government has yet to comment on the attack, _we_ have a report."_

Automatic gunfire echoed off screen and she jumped from her chair. The boy took a step closer till his nose was nearly pressed against the window. An oddly familiar woman's voice called out off screen.

_"No one runs, no one gets shot, understand?"_

There was an odd moment where the set was empty, then the camera flashed over showing a dark-haired woman with torn clothes and covered in battle-grime, waving off a makeup artist who was attempting to tend to her. A banner flashed up introducing her as 'Local Psychopath'.

Justinian's lips parted when he recognised her.

"It's _her!"_ he said to no one, "The lady in purple, it's the lady with the tiger!"

The woman's cold blue eyes narrowed into an icy glare, _"I got a message for Monica Hughes and her stooges,"_ she began. Her nose crinkled into a snarl.

_"Dear BITCH,"_ she spat, _"Steelport is under new management, and we don't answer to you. This is foreign soil now. Come at my city again, and you'll go home in a fucking box!"_ she said, pointing angrily at the camera for emphasis. In that instant the viciousness vanished behind icy indifference; glancing over at Valderama, she added, _"Back to you."_

With that the camera flashed back, Jane frozen, eyes wide and she tried desperately to smile for the cameras.

Justinian looked away from the TVs thoughtfully. He jolted when a purple car and two purple motorbikes roared past, tearing off for the centre of destruction in the city and vanishing into the chaos. The Saints would always protect their cities.

Whether the Steelport liked it or not.


	31. Epilogue

Two Minutes.

I tap my foot on the cold tiles of the bathroom and chew my fingernail impatiently. I catch sight of my figure in the mirror and after a beat I gingerly put my palms over my breasts to check if they've gotten any bigger - I was starting to spill over the top of my bra.

_It'll be fine_. _It'll be pink_. I try and repeat the words over and over in my head, a soothing mantra. _Pink. Pink._

I couldn't do this. How could someone like _me_ possibly do something like _this_? For chrissakes, in Hansel and Gretel I side with the _witch_. Snot nosed brats eating this woman's dream house…

Ninety Seconds.

I'd fuck it all up. I'd be terrible at it. I was such a mess myself, what could I possibly offer… _it_? There's no way a life like mine could accommodate a…

I'll admit, part of me had always sort of assumed I _couldn't_, what with getting blown up and shot and stabbed and everything else. And that thought had always given me a lot of comfort. Till now.

Fuckit, I'm stressing over nothing. If it's not pink I'll just get rid of the thing, no biggie. I bite my nail harder and wince at a small sharp pain, tasting a little blood on my lips. An irksome reminder of what I was, the weird, zombie-bitten freak job. Half-living, Yveline had said. God, what would some kind of freak like _me_ produce…?

Sixty Seconds.

…Brown eyes, for one. Blue were recessive so… brown eyes. Probably Johnny's Zoolander-stick-up hair too. My nose, preferably… a little roly-poly chubby-cheeked shit machine with his eyes and my nose.

I'm smiling, and then cringe.

Forty Seconds

It wouldn't be fair. Not with the sort of life I lead.

_What am I saying?_ It's not like I'm not financially stable. And there'd be a _tribe_ of doting aunts and uncles.

And another tribe of enemies waiting to get to me through h- _it_. It'd never be safe. There was no chance for a normal life; _god dammit_ thinking like that was selfish of me.

Thirty Seconds

Was I even ready for this? If I could be blown up and run over and shot, bring down corporate empires and airships, surely _this_ wouldn't be too hard?

…I've had a lot of adventures. Maybe this was the next big one? If I count off the months, I guess I'd be twenty eight when it happens. IF. If it happens. _Which it won't_. Still, twenty eight, surely that was… _okay_?

I wonder how Johnny would take it. Will he freak out? Even the _notion_ of something like this has never _ever_ passed between us. It was never considered. Oh God, he would freak out…

Or would he? Shit, _shit_ I don't know! But… whatever his reaction, I think _he'd_ be good at it. Being a parent.

Twenty Seconds

Parent… fuck, what a word…

Fifteen Seconds

Come to think of it, 'fuck' would probably _be_ it's first word, another reason I'd be useless at this. I put my hand over my belly, just below my naval.

Twelve Seconds

Brown eyes, my nose…

Ten Seconds

This life is too dangerous. I'd be a terrible parent. I couldn't do that to her. Him? Her?

Five Seconds

I start wishing for pink.

Two Seconds

I can't look. _Pink. Pink. Pink._ I hear the timer go off on my phone and I pick up the stick, hesitating before I open my eyes. _Pink, Pink, Pink…_

I peel my eyes open, and blink at the result.

"…Oh."

** The End. **


End file.
